


The Queensguard Chronicle

by cyaziris



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Male/Nonbinary relationship, Master/Slave, Multi, No Underage Sex, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationships involving slavery are by definition non-con, Side characters in queer relationships, Slavery, Swords & Sorcery, no gender discrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29050065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyaziris/pseuds/cyaziris
Summary: The kingdom of Amur prospers. Its people are fed well, trade is booming, and the court schemes as it is wont to do. But there is movement in the shadows, and there have been several deaths among the nobility. Only one was proven to be murder, but it is clear something is coming and it won't end with simple deaths. At the queen's side stands the High Justiciar, clad in gilded steel and the magic of the goddess of truth. They are under pressure to take in a page, or at least an assistant, but with their job being rather more than it seems they can't afford to take any risk of betrayal. When they purchase a slave with a dark past and an unexpectedly fitting skill set, events are set in motion beyond even their wildest predictions...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story contains magic-enforced criminal/debt slavery. I despise RL slavery and its modern forms such as the prison industry, sweatshops, and underpaid laborers picking our cheap veggies. This story was inspired by RPG/isekai manga that build harems this way, and I adapted it to have as much free will as possible for the servant but allow for absolute, enforced loyalty to the master. This means that the main relationship is *by definition* non-con, even if it's not forced.

The door clicked open, and a beam of warm light whisked across the dim room. Two people, one dressed in fine but overly ostentatious garb, and the other in a heavy wool cloak of indeterminate colour, stepped across the threshold. The light disappeared behind them as the door shut.

“Are you sure you want a—”

“Yes.” The person in the cloak looked around. The soft light from an overhead lantern fell across metal bars that made up one side of the long room. They left enough distance that one could walk along the brick-and-wood wall opposite and stay out of arm’s reach.

“They are classified as _dangerous goods_ for a reason.” The first person sounded flustered as he grabbed a hooked pole from the corner next to the door, and used it to unhook the lantern from the ceiling. He swung it down and across the bars so the light could fall inside. Light glinted off eyes and chains rattled and shifted.

“I know. Tell me about them” The hooded person stepped along the wall, looking into the cages. They were the height of the room, split in half by a second layer. Some were empty, but there were people in rough clothing shackled in eight of the twenty cages. They had half-crawled to the front and were looking out cautiously.

“Of course, sir. I don’t have many, the coliseum just had a purchasing season. These three came in for armed robbery. Sales at one-fifty, one year. Brawn and some skill with a knife.” He moved the light past three cages on the top row. One of the three flinched from the light so close to his face. “No? This—”

“You can call me _Nina_ ,” the woman below drawled as she pressed herself against the bars with a grin. The chain from her neck clanked against them. “All yours if you want me, _sir_ , for a measly three hundred silver—”

“—theft, assault, and rape. Lured young men into alleys and took whatever she wanted. Sale at one-seventy-five, ten years.” She hissed at them in anger. “Trust me, you don’t want her. She nearly cost me an assistant last week. Next, this one I have a hold for. Apparently, some foreign bigwig wants ‘em out of the system and back home. Next to them, some bastard in for abuse of his power. Murdered three servants in the basement of his townhouse. I’m certain he has some sword skill, but the pedigree means he’s set at three and they couldn’t get more than ten years to stick to him.”

“Look, I know it sounds bad but I’m innocent! Please sir, get me out of this shithole, I’ll reward you for it! I swear, I’m innocent!” The man, young and handsome, pressed his face to the bars and looked up at the hooded person with tearful eyes. “Please.”

The hooded figure turned to look at him, and he stilled. He slowly drew his face back from the bars, eyes focused on the dark under the hood. The figure leaned in, and he let go of the bars and moved back. “You are not.” He whimpered and looked away, and the hooded person straightened and stepped away. “In the right direction but this one irks me. Do you have more like this?”

“Of course, sir, these three here. They’re all in for murder. First one killed his wife and kids, set the house on fire. He’s a former soldier, so combat skills should be fine. He’s set at two-fifty for thirty years.” The hooded person looked at the scarred man with the broad hands. His eye twitched and he scowled.

“No. Next one.”

“These two, well, both for multiple murders. She’s not too bad, a former blacksmith. Killed three of Count Lamberk’s personal guard and injured his son when he tried to, ah, recruit her into his personal services. A shame, really, but I can’t put her with the regular stock. You know how it is when nobility is involved.”

“Indeed. A shame. I could use her, how much?”

“One-fifty, ten years. It’s a valuable skill.”

“Hmm. I’ll take her, but as an aside from my primary query.” The blacksmith’s face snapped up at the hooded person with a blank look, then a tear rolled down her face and she smiled. “The last one?”

“Well…” The first man sighed. “I don’t think you’ll want this one. Life sentence for killing several children in Taerm, pretending to—”

“No, you’re right, I don’t want him.” The person’s voice was tinged with disgust. “He can rot here. Is that it? I was told you have the most skilled stock in the city, I had hoped to find one up to my standards here.”

“One more.” He walked all the way to the end of the line-up, and set the lantern on the floor. “He’s probably in the back, but I can have him come to the front to see.”

The hooded figure hunched in front of the cage. It wasn’t high enough to stand, but there was enough depth for even a tall person to lie down. All the way at the back sat a scruffy man, knees drawn up to his chin and unkempt black hair hiding his face. His arms were around his legs, with a hefty shackle around both. Multiple loops of chains lay scattered on the floor.

“Biggest mistake of my life. I got him three years ago, that big case—”

“Wait, the Bursard case?” The hooded figure looked up in surprise, then back at the man in the cage. He shuffled closer and reached one hand to the bars to steady himself as he peered in. His hand was gloved in a fine leather glove with embroidered stitching, and his arm showed fine chainmail over a well-made dark green wool undercoat. The cloak tented up at the back over a sword being pushed up against it.

“—Indeed, that was it. Nobody will take him off my hands. They’re all terrified of crossing the Guild, and I can’t even lower the damn price if I wanted to because of the life sentence and the skillset he has.” He rubbed his face and the rings on his fingers glittered in the low light. “Bust of my career, he is, and curse whoever thought it was a good idea to convict a bloody assassin. Nobody wants the stigma of having him, either.”

“How much?”

“What? No, you don’t want him sir, you’re like to make enemies in dark places—”

“Kymar, _how much_.”

“Seriously? Five.”

“ _FIVE?!_ ” There was noise behind them as the noble bastard clanked against his bars. “How the fuck is my price lower than his, you asshole?!”

“Shut up or I’ll halve your meals permanently!” Kymar, the slave trader, spat in the general direction of the cage the bastard was in. “As I said, five, down from the original seven I had him at. Just to get back his purchase price. Lifelong bottoms out at three, plus fifty for the high-power subordination enchantment, and one-fifty for his total skillset.”

“Hey, you, come up to the bars please.” The hooded person’s voice was soft but firm, and an eye peeked out between the matted black hair.

The man in the cage narrowed his eyes a bit, then tipped himself forward into a squat and shuffled forward about half the way. His chains dragged behind him. His narrow face was covered in scruff. He looked into the hood, trying to discern who he was looking at. He held eye contact, that much he could tell, and the hairs on his arms raised slightly. Suddenly he was looking into a pair of faintly glowing golden eyes, and it was almost as if the hooded figure was looking through instead of at him. He shuddered. There were edges to the irises, but no pupils.

“Do you want out of this cage?” the person asked in a low voice.

He looked into those eyes for a moment, then nodded.

“Stand him up for me please.” The person stood up and stepped back from the cage. Kymar stepped forward with a key. He muttered a command and the chained man hissed as a mark around his ankle briefly turned red. Kymar unlocked the cage and the man shuffled out. He stood up and looked at his would-be owner. They were of a height, and their eyes were level.

“I’ll take him,” they said.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Kymar raised his eyebrows. “Fine, I’m not one to judge people for lack of regard for danger. Let’s go back to the room and we’ll draw up a contract.”

“No need, I have my own prepared. No names, as discussed before.” They paused for a moment. “Actually, draw up a basic contract for the blacksmith, but leave it unfinished. I’ll confirm it myself.”

“Do you enjoy playing with fire, sir? Bringing a dangerous slave out of the shop with only the restraint on them is—”

“We discussed this, Kymar. No names. I take the one I want, set the contract at my leisure, and if this doesn’t work out, I return them to you with no refund. I see no reason for you to complain about this.”

Kymar grumbled as he repeated his actions for the blacksmith.

“As for the blacksmith’s contract, I’ll finalise it myself but I’ll pay you for the service. Also, how much are your costs for food and care for three years? I’ll pay a proper price for him.”

Kymar looked at his client and blinked a few times. “What, you go to all this trouble to hide your identity, sir, and now you’re telling me you’re a righteous man who doesn’t want to stiff a merchant for down-priced wares? Ha. Pay me the original seven then.” He started walking towards the door.

“I’ll pay you a thousand for the both of them, and all I came here for was the blacksmith.”

Kymar stopped as he gripped the door handle. “Ah. So that’s how we’re playing this, sir. Well, let’s return and draw up the contract for the one slave you will be purchasing then.” He looked back and grinned. “Of course, you’ll need an assistant,” and he flicked his eyes to the chained man, “to help you finalise the contract at your… house? Estate? Either way. This way please,” he said as he stepped out of the room.

Half an hour later, the hooded figure was sat in an unmarked carriage opposite their two new possessions. The curtains were drawn, and the man was leaning off to the side. His hands were still shackled together. The blacksmith had trouble keeping her eyes forward, both because her new owner’s gaze was somewhat unsettling, and because the man next to her made her nervous.

There was a knock on the wall behind the owner, and he knocked back twice.

“We’re here. Now then, Desith is was?” She nodded. “As you’ve maybe gathered you were a little outside my original plans, so I’m going to put you to work under a regular fealty contract. You’ll be working your skills; I can always use good metalworkers. You’ll work with the existing personnel and I’ll be paying you a salary according to their standard.”

“Wait, what? Er, sir, is that…”

“It’s fine. I have no intent on holding your status against you in any way. Of all those there, you belonged there least of all and you are useful to me. I am aware of the details of your sentencing.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall do my best to be of service.” She made a half-bow to them.

The carriage came to a stop. The door opened from the outside, and a greying man with a lined face in fine livery opened the door. His expression was neutral as he took in the scene, then stepped to the side with a crisp bow. The hooded person stepped out and the two others followed suit, flinching at the light.

“Welcome back, sir. I trust your errand was successful?”

“Very much so, Serge. Take this one inside and have him cleaned up a bit, then send him to my office. Back route only please. Also, send word to the armoury that I will be sending them an extra hand today. Have a room prepared for miss Desith with the other personnel.” They handed Serge a key for the shackles.

“Of course, sir. I will have everything ready within the hour. I have taken the liberty of arranging a larger dinner, given your late return with company.”

“Excellent. Please have it sent up about… an hour after him.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“That will be all.” The figure strode past to the sole door in the otherwise blank stone wall before them. “Desith, with me. We’ll finalise your contract and I’ll have someone show you around.”

Serge straightened his back and gave the chained man a once-over. “Your name?”

He shrugged. “None in particular.” His eyes scanned the small courtyard, and focused on a faint line running horizontally across the stonework at about four meters high.

Serge sighed. “I see the lord has made an interesting choice. With me, then. Follow my instructions and make no attempts at anything untoward.” He unlocked the shackles, and the man rubbed his wrists.

“Or else the defences will get me, I see?”

“Indeed.” Serge turned around and led him inside, gave a few curt orders to a servant in dark green livery standing at attention inside, and immediately went up a steep and narrow staircase. By the time they reached the top he was winded. Serge waited a moment for him to catch his breath.

“Shit, what is that, two storeys up? Three?”

“Three. We will be staying at this level.”

“Thank gods.” He stabilised his breath, and Serge resumed walking at a brisk pace.

By the time they reached a door to go through he was breathing hard again. Serge opened the door into a room about twice the size of a servant’s quarters. A stacked bunk sat against the wall to his right, flanked by a table and a set of chairs. Opposite him were a few cabinets, one with a large copper basin and a mirror over it. Right in the centre stood a large tub of hot water, and against the far-left wall were racks of various sets of clothing, from livery to simple street clothes to formal robes. There was another closed door in the far corner. Two servants in the same green livery, one pale and chubby with her coppery hair in a braided updo, the other dark with close-cropped curls, stood waiting.

“Have him cleaned, groomed, and dressed in fitting livery in forty minutes.” The two women nodded and immediately set to work. Serge parked him on one of the chairs in front of a plate with two slices of buttered bread and dried fruit and a mug of water. “I’ll return later to retrieve you. Do not leave the room.”

This was followed by one of the women taking a few quick measurements while he scarfed up the food. She went to work on slightly tailoring a set of livery in his size. The other woman, despite a brief protest that he’d been cleaned with basic magic, had him strip and sit in the bath while she scrubbed him down, then washed and combed his hair. She didn’t so much as flinch when the hair was out of his face, revealing that his right eye had been messily put out. As she shaved off the matted beard more scars across his face showed up from under it. Unlike the scars across his body, these seemed to have been made with the intent to cause as much disfiguring scarring as possible.

In no time he was standing at the ready, smelling faintly of soap and dressed from tip to toe in fine, soft livery. It was the same dark green as the servants. Because he’d made a face at the woman while she was cutting his hair into a semblance of civility and putting it up in a simple ponytail, she’d left him sizeable bangs around the sides of his face to hide a bit of the mutilation. Even so, he looked away when Serge returned through the same back door.

Serge simply led him back into the corridor and zig-zagged his way through various narrow passages. At the end of one, down a small flight of stairs, he knocked at a sturdy wooden door and then let himself in. “My lord.”

“Thank you, Serge. You are dismissed.” Serge bowed and shut the door behind them. It clicked into place and the outlines faded into the décor. Serge left out the proper doors across from them. And left him standing gawking at the room.

Opulent was an understatement. The floor was carpeted with delicately patterned deep blue and cream carpet. The walls were skirted in dark wood to waist height, and above that decorated with cream and gilt panels interspaced with grooved marble pilasters up to a wide decorative frieze and cornice with stucco floral patterns that continued onto the slightly concave ceiling. Several large glass chandeliers hung across the carpeted expanse, set with furniture along the edges. There were a few chubby chaises with delicate tables, bookshelves full of books, and large porcelain pots with greenery. On the wall opposite him was a fireplace topped by a large gilt-framed painting and flanked by two further doors. It proudly displayed a person with long wavy golden hair tumbling down their shoulders, across a gilded but surprisingly practical set of armour, helmet under one arm, and the other outstretched and holding a pole with an artistically fluttering banner. The furnishings served mostly to draw attention to the open space in the centre, between the double doors Serge had left through and the tall windows overlooking a courtyard, a heavy-set fortified wall, and beyond that, the city.

There stood a heavy mahogany desk with a tall cream-and-gilt upholstered chair. Behind the desk sat a person that terrified him, and before it stood a single simple chair.

“Please have a seat.” He stiffly walked over to the chair and sat down. The attention of those flat, golden eyes was even worse than down in the slaver’s cells. “Welcome to the royal castle. Let us begin.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

“Let’s start with getting that collar off you so you can fully appreciate the situation. Unlock.” The plain steel collar around his neck clicked open. “Take it off please.” He reached up as he was told and laid the thing on the desk.

“I presume you’ve drawn a few conclusions about the situation, several correct, several not. I am Sir Luca Sorosas, personal knight guardian to Her Majesty the Queen, and High Justiciar of the Temple of Veretrea.” They took the collar and set it on a singular sheet of paper, then steepled their fingers. Sir Luca looked at him over their hands, and once again he had the distinct feeling that he was being looked through. He sat as still as he could.

“A man of many names in service of the Assassin’s Guild was deployed three years ago in the assassination of Margrave Amyad Bursard of Eastmarch. While he was successful in his mission, it culminated in disaster for the assassin and his ultimate patron. The trap sprung too late to save the Margrave, but he was captured at the scene and the paper trail led to Margrave Elisund of the neighbouring Sablemarch, who has since been executed for far more extensive crimes.”

He shifted on the chair. Despite the padded and upholstered seat he was finding it quite uncomfortable.

“As High Justiciar I was involved with the final verdict of the case. It was a fairly clear case and a clear verdict, but there was some issue with what to do with the assassin. Given the evidence pointing towards the Guild, they immediately distanced themselves from him like he was a lit fuse in their powder cellars. As the final responsibility for the death of a Margrave lay with Elisund, and the assassin was merely a tool in that, I ended with the heaviest verdict for murder, a life sentence in criminal slavery, rather than summary execution. And that was the end of that.

“Imagine my surprise when Alestus Kymar starts talking about that big case from three years ago, and I find out the assassin has not, in fact, been purchased back by the Guild _or_ died, but is still sitting in a slaver’s cell, wasting away in the dark.”

Sir Luca sat back and sighed, closing their eyes. He felt like a weight was taken off his body, and he took some time to actually look at them. They had a round, friendly face, framed by straw-blonde hair almost as luminous as their eyes. They wore an embroidered dark green coat, now sans chainmail, over a cream ruffled shirt laced with golden thread. The sleeves of the coat were rolled up and neatly buckled in place with delicate straps, and the shirtsleeves’ puffy ends were cinched tight around long white silk gloves that seemed… a little thicker than regular court gloves. Luca’s shoulders were set wider than their somewhat delicate face implied about their physique, and a buttony nose inched their face slightly more towards pretty than to handsome.

The moment they opened their eyes that thought went right out the window and he was pinned to the chair again. It felt like something else was looking at him.

“What a find, what a find. Your skillset puts you very close to what I need right now, though a bit over the price range I thought I would be spending. However, given the position I am recruiting you for, I doubt I could have found a better fit. You see,” and here Luca leaned in towards him, “You are in my seat of office because I am in need of an assistant to fulfil my _complete_ set of duties and still be capable of having more than ten minutes of sleep in a day. I have found my previous assistants to be severely lacking in the trustworthiness department.”

Sir Luca turned his palms up and made a wide gesture across their desk. “As you can see I’m in a bit of a mess of paperwork,” and they were, there were several stacks on the sides and edges of the massive desk, “and my work environment doesn’t really accommodate me working through it. This makes it difficult to keep fully appraised of what goes on and report to Her Majesty about the state of her subjects.”

Luca grabbed a sheet off one of the piles and skimmed over it. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine. If it hadn’t been for the whiff of soap, he swore he could have smelled his own fear and apprehension.

“Comings and goings of Count Ebber to a particular brothel three streets from the castle gates.” He set the sheet down and picked up one from another stack. “Donations to traders in exotic goods from… anonymous sources.” And another one. “A castle servant seen showing off an expensive trinket to a colleague.”

His eyes went wide. All these stacks were like that? He tried to lean forward and look at the nearest one. Such valuable information, piles and piles of it… but a white hand landed on the pile. “Ah-ah. No you don’t. But you see where I am getting at, don’t you?” Luca looked at him.

“You’re no guard. You’re a spy master.”

“Her Majesty’s hand to manage the nobility flitting around in the castle and wider in the country. Yes. And I employ whomever or whatever I need to keep this entire mess running smoothly.”

“Aren’t I the most dangerous person to put close to such information? Moreover, I assume this means interacting with the court here in the castle… I’m hardly…” He clenched his hands on his knees. His knuckles where white.

“You are a dangerous person. But currently you are not the most dangerous person in my employ. Soon to be employ. Either way. And as for the court, I intend for you to have several very skilled teachers to make sure you fit in with the rest of my people. That won’t be a problem.” Luca’s golden eyes looked over his face, the ruined eye. He looked down at his knuckles. Small scars littered his hands. “As for your face, that won’t be a problem either.”

His head snapped up, he opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Now, given that this is a rather important position to fill, I intend for your employment here to be as consensual as it can be. To this end, I had you take off the collar. While the restraining enchantment will keep you from acting violently without permission, I find that the collar’s control enchantments cloud the mind somewhat. This also means I cannot influence the choice you are about to make.”

He moved the single sheet of paper with the chunky metal collar atop it forward across the desk, as well a small stack of paper about a finger thick. There was a slender silvery filigree choker on that stack.

“The first option is this.” Sir Luca set their left hand on the stack with the choker. “You accept my offer and enter into a very, _very_ detailed slave contract under me. You get a position at my side, with all the duties and benefits that brings you. I fix your face, and you retain _almost_ as much personal freedom as you would without the slavery contract.

“The second is this,” and Luca set their right hand on the old collar. “You enter my employ as any other servant. You get less freedom, but you’ll not be involved in this mess. You get proper pay but you’ll never speak a word of what transpired here, who you are, or how you were hired. You’ll never leave the castle again.

“Lastly, I can send you back to Kymar and into that cage. This includes a trip past a mage in my employ to seal slash wipe your memories of today. Given your track record you likely die in that cage or Kymar tires of it and throws you back into the criminal punishment system and you get sent off gods know where to live out your sentence in worse misery.”

Luca sat back in the chair and crossed their arms. “The choice is yours. You can read through the details of the two contracts. In fact, please do. My offer comes with a set of stipulations that allows you as much free will and free choice as I can possibly get you without compromising the security of my work.” Luca pulled the top sheet of both stacks out and handed them to him. “The other one is far simpler. I’d start with that one. Take your time.”

He bobbed his head forwards and took both sheets, and looked over them. Luca grabbed some papers from a stack and started reading them. They occasionally made notes in a small booklet they took from a coat pocket.

The words were a blur and his hands shook. “Why a slave? Why not hire someone properly?”

“Because a specifically-worded slave contract allows me exactly the amount of control I need. Someone I hire brings a risk of betrayal. And despite all intentions, this won’t allow for that.” Luca ticked something off and moved the papers to another pile.

“And why me? I’m… I was an assassin, sure, but not that high-ranking. Basically a flunky.”

“But a smart one. And despite what you say, skilled enough to evade the traps of the people we dispatched to protect Bursard.” They read another note from the stack, frowned, and made an extensive note. “Also you’re about the same height and build as I am and I may or may not have had some probably bad ideas with that.”

“What?” He looked up from the papers, and saw Luca was grinning at him. Hat was… different from the piercing stare from earlier.

“Read those. You can at least read, right?”

“Y-yes. I can.” He looked down and focused. Left first. Simple enough, as Luca had described. The safe option, but a death sentence as much as going back was. The one on the right… “What is this.”

“Exactly what it says it is.”

He read on. One command to govern his compliance. Salary and housing, food and clothing. Freedom of movement and action outside the constraints of that one command. The command to be given as first and last explicit command under the slave collar’s compliance. His eyes darted to the silvery choker. The fanciest ball and chain he’d ever laid his eyes on. The stack of paper it sat on was the one command. The sheet in his hand merely gave a summary of it.

They sat for about ten minutes, Sir Luca working through some of his paperwork, and he considering his options. Every now and then he glanced up at Luca. Sunlight streamed in from behind them, and even if the high-backed chair kept direct sunlight from falling across them, Luca’s hair almost glowed where the light fell onto it. It was cut into a slightly curled fringe across his brow, stepped down to bangs framing their face. The rest fell across their shoulders in a soft wave.

“You terrify me.” Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“That’s because you keep making eye contact. Most people I meet only make that mistake once but somehow you keep looking me in the eyes.” Luca smiled and moved another sheet of paper. “Do you think you can make a decision? Or do you need more time to think this through? I need to put a collar on you before the hour is up to prevent the restraint from going off. If you need more time to think, we can do this again in a week when the safety reset is cleared and I can take it off again.”

“That long?”

“They told you when they put it on, didn’t they?”

“Not really.”

Luca sighed. “They should have, according to protocol. You have the heaviest restrictive enchantment on you. It needs to be combined with a slave collar at all time, or it goes off and starts inflicting pain on you. The master of the collar can take it off for an hour at most, with a reset period of a week. All to prevent the slave from escaping. The longer it’s off beyond that, the worse the punishment gets. If someone unauthorised takes it off, it immediately starts at high-level punishment and notifies the owner. If _you_ take it off, it badly hurts you in the attempt and kills you if you actually take the collar off.”

“Ah.” He rubbed his throat with one hand. “Hold on. You’re the owner already? With no contract?”

“You are under a verbally authorised loan for a period of ten days. After that my rights are withdrawn and you go back to Kymar regardless of your will, unless we complete the contract within that time.”

He looked down. “Not much of a choice.”

“Oh, it very much is a choice. And the safe alternative is actually very much in your favour, considering your situation. Low risk, but then also low reward.”

“Going back is not an option.”

“That too is a choice. Unknown risk, no reward. Unknown reward. Nobody can truly accurately predict the future. But chances are it won’t be pretty. So I understand that one. But you’re having doubts about the contracts I’m offering.”

“It’s only the rest of my life,” he rumbled.

“Ha! Indeed it is. You have fifteen minutes left today. Otherwise we can try again next week.”

“I can’t tell the risks to the… job you’re offering.”

“High reward, but also high risk. The risk is that I’ll throw you into a pit of sharks with a speed course in etiquette and the most complicated set of anti-shark measures I could come up with, but no perfect guarantee that you won’t get viciously mauled at some point.”

“Espionage is a shark pit?”

“No, politics. The court is an unholy mess on intrigue tempered by decorum. A true slave can’t act freely enough to fit in, and is at risk of manipulation against their explicit consent. This,” Luca said as they patted the papers, “will keep you safe from them, but most of all keep _me_ safe from _you_. And vice versa. I am not – no, I don’t intend to be cruel to anybody if I can manage it. I would very much prefer cooperation and trust over force if I can manage it, especially in this line of business. But back to the risks. Stress, conflicting orders, choices that could lead to your or my death. Assault, in any form. Although this should protect you from anything non-consensual happening. Also, if I go down, you go down with me.”

“I see.” He sighed. He bobbed his head forwards again, then put both papers on the desk. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank the gods.” Luca clapped his hands together. “Let’s see, we have about… ten minutes left until the hour? I think I can set the directive order in that time. Dinner after that, and then you can retire for the evening. We’ll see.” They took the choker and held it out for him.

He moved forward and took it. It was cool to the touch, and now that he held it, he could see the fine rune engravings on the inside. It was so delicate he was afraid it might bend, but it tingled on his fingertips. There was a small oval stone set in the centre. “Is that a magic stone?”

“Good eye. This thing is a lot more sophisticated than the collars they usually use, cost me a fair sum to have it made. It’s made to sit flush with the skin, look good, and process the massive command I’m going to give you so that it can guide you without any unnecessary delays. The regular collars lack the capacity for complex permanent commands. Anyway, enough explanations. Please.”

He took a deep breath, fumbled a little, then held the choker around his neck, and held the flat ends against each other. It sealed with a slight click and he felt the slack metal choker warp itself snugly against his skin. It was cool for a moment, but quickly warmed up from his body heat. He touched it, and felt the fine filigree under his fingertips.

“Good. Now to complete the slave contract.” Luca opened a drawer and took out a letter knife. With a quick motion they jabbed it into their right thumb. “Move closer so I can touch it.”

He stood, moved his head sideways, then set his hands against the edge of the desk and leaned in. Luca pressed their thumb against the gem, and a flash of blood-red light briefly flashed across their face. He shuddered at the sight more than the feeling of heat across his skin as the magic of the collar activated with a hum.

“I, Luca Sorosas, hereby claim ownership of this slave according to the set conditions of the criminal slavery system. All rights are transferred to me according to the contract provided.” They pressed their thumb onto the contract paper as well, leaving a red print. “Your turn.” They flipped the knife around for him to take. He stood over Luca’s desk, looking down at the offered blade. Luca looked up between their eyelashes. “Go on. It’s not final until you do the same.”

He twisted his head sideways again and took the knife. “I could stab you.”

“You won’t. Also, you can’t. Restriction enchantment is in effect until this is done. No violence.” Luca smiled.

“Aren’t you the first shark here?”

“I thought that was clear from the start.”

He grunted, then set the blade against his right thumb. It sliced in easily – too sharp for a mere letter-opener – and with another wobble of his head managed to set his thumb onto the appropriate spot on the paper. The hum of the choker rose to a high pitch, then faded. “Don’t we need the slaver for this too?” He looked behind him and sat back down.

“No, his verbal agreement included a transfer of the sign-over authority to you. Now I’ll read you your first command. This can’t be interrupted midway. Ready?”

He nodded, and Luca took the first sheet of paper from the stack. “I, Luca Sorosas, hereby command you, the slave before me, to follow the command hereafter in perpetuity, as outlined in articles one to sixteen…”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Luca’s voice went on into clauses and articles of the command. Most of the details were straightforward enough, like keeping information secret and obeying orders related to his duties and tasks, but there were some very clear instructions he didn’t expect there. It left a lot of leeway for him to refuse commands, even Luca’s. One of the first things on that list was any command that would result in physical harm to himself. Next was any sort of intimacy he didn’t consent to, including demands from Luca. It did allow Luca to loan him out to other people, in a way, but allowed him to even opt out of that and return to Luca for “confirmation”. More like tattling. There was even a clause that allowed Luca to regain control of the slave contract in case someone managed to bypass or overrule the collar somehow. He lost track of the sentence construction at several points.

“… which concludes the sixteenth and final article of this command. Thus I conclude my command to you.” There was a sudden jolt from his neck as the choker registered the command, and a flash of pain in his head. It was like the world lurched sideways for a few moments, and he doubled over on the chair. He barely managed to keep a whimper of pain from escaping.

“Hmm, I wasn’t sure how much effect it would have on you. My previous attempt at this was a lot shorter.” Luca set down the last sheet of paper of the command. They’d only gone through about ten pages of the stack. They folded them in half and set them atop the pile of other papers they’d already looked through.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, then sat back up. “I’m fine, sir.”

“Good. Let’s have a test run. Bang your head against the desk.”

He raised an eyebrow. That was going to hurt. “Are you serious, sir?”

“Very much. Also, that concludes the test, and puts us on schedule for dinner.”

“How do you keep knowing what exact time it is, sir?” He looked behind him, trying to see if he missed a clock somewhere.

“Magic.” Luca smiled, and at his confused face, widened it to a grin. “I jest. There’s a clock in this room, just not in an obvious location.” There was a knock on the door. “See? Dinner.”

Sir Luca stood up smoothly, and he hurried to follow along. “Enter, Cecilia.” Luca stepped out from behind his desk, revealing black trousers with gold-embroidered seams tucked into knee-high leather boots. With, of course, golden buckles along the side. One of the double doors opened, and a servant with her hair in a neat bun and a rosy smile on her face walked in. She pushed a cart set with several covered plates.

“Good evening, my lord. Your dinner.”

“Right on time, please set the table for me today.”

“Of course, Sir.” She pushed the cart in front of her through the door to the right of the fireplace. Beyond it lay a far more soberly decorated room, and Cecilia started offloading her cart onto the table.

“Well then, er… right, you still need a name. We can think about that while we eat. Stay where you are until she leaves, then join me.”

“Am I… eating with you? Sir?” He stood next to the chair, frowning. “Is that appropriate?”

“Very much. You do realise I recruited a page, not just any servant? You’ll be at my side to attend to me. At all times. Which includes dinner.”

“…Oh. I thought that was just the formal job description.” He looked away to the right as Cecilia returned sans cart, offering the least scarred side of his face.

“Can I be of further assistance, sir?” She smiled, seeming unperturbed by his presence.

“No. You can go. I’ll call when I’m done.” She curtsied and left the way she came, shutting the door behind her.

They sat down at the table together. The room was warm, with wooden flooring and the same cream-and-gold wall colour, but none of the ostentatious scrollwork of the office. The ceiling was lower, too, with wall lamps instead of chandeliers. The furniture was plainer and lighter, though still of good quality. One table, four chairs, two to a side, and a few cabinets against the walls. Cecilia had set two places on either side of the table. Luca mumbled a few words and there was a slight tingle of magic.

“Do you test all your food for poison, sir?”

“Yes. Also, how much of that could you tell?” Luca looked at him with a raised eyebrow, then speared a chunk of potato.

“Just that it’s there, and where it went. It only seemed logical that that’s what it was.” He slid his hands over the table and grabbed his own cutlery. He tilted his head and started eating.

“Interesting. Also, why do you keep doing that?” They ate the potato, then waved the fork at his face.

“What? Sir?” he asked after quickly swallowing a mouthful of food.

“You keep bobbing your head everywhere.”

“Oh. No depth perception. It’s fine when I’m moving around, but I can’t really tell how far everything is.”

Luca sighed and put down their fork. “Right, only one eye. Hold on.” They stood up and walked around to his side of the table. “No, stay seated.” They pulled out his chair with him on it. Stronger than they looked, he thought. He was turned away from the table, and Luca stepped in front of him.

“Sir?”

“I’m going to fix that eye of yours. I was going to do so later, but this is unpractical. Did this happen during your capture?” Luca stood over him and looked intently at his face.

“No, sir,” he said, and squirmed a little. Luca put his hands on his cheeks and turned his face left and right. “A guard in the prison did. Courtesy of the Guild.”

“Assholes. Probably to prevent anyone else making use of your skills. Just the eye, or the entire face?”

“Just the eye. I did the rest myself. Guild protocol dictates that it’s easier to attach reshaping masks when there’s less emotional attachment to one’s own face. And later I had to scrape off the tattoo they put on me.” He felt Luca’s hands jerk slightly. “Didn’t like knowing it was there.”

“I guess that’s understandable. Still, I should probably fix up the scarring there too.” They ran a finger along his jawline, feeling the lumpiness of the badly scarred skin. “I can’t send you out with a face like this. This will be uncomfortable. It takes a lot of energy to regenerate lost tissue, and removing scars is similar. Sit still, try not to move your head while I do this and keep your eye closed.”

He shut his eye, grateful not to look into Luca’s eyes anymore, and exhaled slowly. He heard them speak a few words he didn’t recognise, followed by a feeling that was possibly worse than when he actually lost the eye. It squirmed and squelched deep into his skull, pushing pain in through the empty eye socket. He tensed up across his shoulders and neck, but kept his face impassive. The painful squirming feeling spread across his cheek as the flesh pulled apart and knit back together. He felt fabric on his lips as Luca pressed them apart. Something pulled taut but then loosened. And then it was over, and the pain was gone. He heard Luca exhale loudly, and let go of the breath he was holding.

“There we go.” Luca pat his cheek and let go. They sounded out of breath. “Try opening your eyes.”

He breathed in and out to steady himself, then slowly opened his eyes. A sharp pain lanced into his right eye, and he slapped a hand over it. His fingers found soft skin instead of the jagged open hole it had been. Under his palm he felt his cheek. Smooth with a bit of stubble. He tried again. His fingers were blurry and unfocused.

“I can see my fingers.” He opened his eyes wider, tears welling up. He felt his face. _His face_. He looked up at Luca. They were weirdly blurry and out of focus, but the edges were getting crisper. The wall behind them was clearer already. “And I can feel them on my face.”

“You sure can,” Luca wheezed. “I’ll grab a plate.”

“…plate?” He turned to see Luca walk to one of the cupboards and pull out a silver serving plate. They held it up in front of his face. “Oh. _Oh._ Gods. You fixed my face.” He took hold of the plate with his other hand. He poked and prodded, seeing his reflection do the same. “How? Kymar kept saying it couldn’t be fixed. The eye. The scars.”

“High-level divine healing is restricted to the very highest echelons of the clergy. They don’t tend to just hand it out to everybody, you know.” Luca walked back to his chair and sat themselves down heavily. “As I said, it takes a lot of energy.” They started shovelling food. “You should eat too,” they said between mouthfuls, “it takes a lot of your energy too. And since you’ve been in that cage for three years, I doubt you’re in the best of conditions. Eat.”

“Y-yes, sir.” He set the plate down on the table, then picked up his fork. “Hah. Haha. I can tell where things are again. I can fucking see shit again.” Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Eat first, breakdown later.” Luca stuffed their mouth again while he wiped his face with shaky hands. He sniffed and did the same. They ate in silence. Luca was done a lot faster and watched him finish his meal. Then he just sat there, head in his hands, breathing deeply.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

“So now what? Do I join the servants for work? Start training? Finish the rest of that stack of paperwork? I thought all of that was the command, but you only read ten sheets of all that.” He raised his head to look at Luca and crossed his arms.

“No, I’ll arrange your schedule tomorrow morning. You won’t be introduced as my page to the rest of the castle servants until later. For tonight it’s the rest of the paperwork, and I have some more work to do.” They got up and returned to the office room. He hurried to follow along. “This also means you need a name. I already have a family name set up for you, but I’m not feeling any of the names I put on my shortlist.”

“You have a list? Were you going to rename whomever you ended up with regardless?”

“Yes. I’ve arranged a fully fabricated personal history. You’ll be a cousin once removed of Dame Yulara Morellan. She’ll bring you here to attempt to adopt you into her household after your father, her direct cousin, passed away of disease two months ago. Sadly, you’re being chased by creditors trying to recoup several hefty loans in your father’s name, and she’s unable to repay the humongous debt so you end up in debt slavery. I’ll ‘purchase’ you from them during another frustrating attempt to find an assistant meeting my exacting standards. Given your pedigree I’ll take you as a page, since I’m expected to take one.

“Dame Morellan has been briefed and prepared, and you’ll make a public entry into her household in the coming month. The Morellans come from a respectable lineage of knights, but they’ve been on the decline for the last three generations. They’re good stock but with few active social attachments, and most importantly, no affiliations to any of the major players’ factions. Sit down.”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ll discuss the details of the setup later. Let’s start with the citizenship registration. Knightly families have a hereditary right to citizenship, to be claimed when their children turn fifteen. So you’ll be filling this out so we can slip it into the archives with the proper date and age. Here’s a reference for the backstory…”

Aside from the citizenship registration, there were identification papers, a few letters to prepare for Dame Morellan, a formal contract of employment, and three missives. One was to the Temple of Veretrea, and two for the queen.

And then he had to write down a name.

Any name.

But it was going to be his, likely for the remainder of his life.

The pen hovered over the paper. His hand shook, and he quickly set it into the inkwell before it dripped.

“Would you read me the shortlist again, sir?”

“You’ve been over this five times and rejected all of them. You didn’t like the sound of Petyr. Sellick was just bad. If this takes any longer, I’m naming you Stumped.”

“This is—”

“—Important because this is the last name you’ll ever wear, and unlike your job-given names for the Guild you have to like it and live with it. _We have been over this_. My patience is fraying thin.”

“Random names then!” He slapped his hand on the table, and felt heat creep across his neck and ears.

“Delmar.” He shook his head. “Vance.” Again. “Uhhhh. Orryn.”

“Better, but not it. Maybe… Cedric? I’ve been Cedric once.”

“No names you’ve used for the Guild.”

“Damnit. Now is a time when I’m missing whomever wrote those mission briefings and came up with them.” He rubbed his temples. “Why is this so damned hard.”

“Adelard.”

“No. Though the sound of it is better. How’s Darius?”

“That could work.” Luca tapped their chin. “Darius Morellan.”

“Or Roshan. Roan. Was it something with an r…” He thunked his head onto the desk.

“An r?”

“This would be so much easier if I could remember my actual name. Before everything. But all I have is a headache.”

“You’re giving me one. And distracting me from my work.” Luca sighed and picked up the same sheet of paper again. “Go sit in the dining room and think out loud in there so I can’t hear you.”

“Yes sir.” He stood up, took the registration, and paced into the dining room.

Luca took a note and moved the paper to their “done” pile. This was certainly turning out to be more of a handful than they’d thought. “This had better be worth it.”

“ _He gives me a good feeling, child. Have some trust._ ”

“And you realise that is exactly what I can’t afford right now.” They tapped their fingers on the desk and scanned the contents of the next note. “I’m being kind and jovial at your insistence. So far it’s just made him go from cagey rude to friendly rude with a topping of ‘sir’. I am still his master, even if I intend to treat him as an employee rather than a slave.”

“ _Fortune comes to those who persist in their endeavours._ ”

“Fortune, my ass. Fortune has brought me a week of backlogged reports because the queen needed me to accompany her to Linden.”

“ _And that delay brought you past Kymar’s lodge, and to this man. He’s almost got it by the way. Tip of the tongue. He’s looking for the name Ar—_ ”

The door clicked open and Luca’s acquisition stepped out. “Ardyn.” He grinned widely.

“Finally,” Luca said and rested his head against his chair. “Now fill out the paperwork and let me finish my work.”

He- _Ardyn_ walked over to the desk and quickly filled out the remaining entries on the paperwork. Luca signed off on the identification papers.

“Congratulations Ardyn Morellan, you are now officially a person.” Luca smiled and set the paperwork aside to let the ink dry. They brushed their fingers over the edge of the writing tray set into the desk. It was inlaid with gold filigree with circular patterns, of which several were connected to a tiny magic circuit. It allowed him to quietly and unnoticeably call for people. “Which means we have finalised the contract part of your new position, and we can start on getting you trained for the post.”

“Yes, sir.” Ardyn sat straight on the chair. Luca looked him in the eyes, and they could see a slight twitch, more obvious on the newly regenerated right one. He kept doing that, Luca thought. Interesting.

“You’ll stay in the back rooms tonight and tomorrow morning while I finalise the details, and then I’m sending you off to Laskim Woods. You’ll receive education and physical training at a lodge I have set up there until everything is ready here. Read the primer I gave you and memorise it on the way.”

“I thought you said that I would be attending you at all times, sir.”

“Once you’re officially set up as my page, yes. But you’re no use right now. You can probably barely tell one insignia from another, I doubt you know any of the colours, and you’d blow over in a stiff wind. A month is cutting it short; you need food, rest, and exercise. Ah, Serge.” The secret door lightly pushed out of the wall and swung open. It was dark, and Serge bore a small shuttered lantern.

“How may I serve, my lord?”

“I’ll be tending the fire in an hour or so, have someone come in and light everything for me. And please see mister Ardyn Morellan to the back resting room. I want him on a coach to Laskim after morning tea.”

“Of course, sir.” He bowed slightly and turned to Ardyn. “Please follow me. A room has been prepared for you.”

Ardyn stood, nodded, and looked at Luca. “Can I…?”

“Yes, you’re dismissed for today. Off you go.” Luca went back to their paperwork.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Ardyn stood and walked over to Serge, looking over his shoulder as he stepped through the doorway. Luca’s face was impassive, and fully focused on their work. The red-orange light of late summer sunset lit them from behind. The high-backed chair cast a long shadow across the room, swallowing up the chair he’d been sitting on. Serge closed the door behind him silently and started back up the stairs. He followed with some effort. Sitting down on a proper chair was nice, but his legs were stiff anyway. Serge had a smooth stride, but he was a deceptively fast walker.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” He said between two deep breaths.

“You may ask, yes.” Serge wove them through the narrow corridors. They hadn’t seen anybody else so far.

“What’s he like? Sir Luca?”

“They are a person with high demands and expectations. Strict, but generous. With their description of you, you’ll find yourself hard-pressed to find a better master. There are other slaves among the servants, all willingly employed, some for years even beyond their initial contract.”

“Huh. Apologies. How long have you been with them?” He hurried a little to catch up after a particularly long corridor.

“Going on seven years now, since they were appointed as Her Majesty’s guard.”

“They seem a lot younger than I’d thought from all the stories. Even before the trial.”

“They are twenty-six. But they will tell you the details you need to know about that.” They turned another corner, and stopped by the same door he’d been cleaned up in. “This is the resting room, where we receive personnel returning from assignments. Please do not attempt to traverse the corridors without another servant. You are not yet fully registered to the defences.” He opened the door, and the room was now split in half with foldable wooden panelling.

Ardyn walked in. “Do you think I can live up to their expectations? I mean, I’m not exactly the shining example of a knight’s page, am I.”

“That,” Serge said, grey eyes peering over his fine gold-rimmed glasses, “will be up to you. I suggest you follow any command exactly and without fail.” He pulled a cord dangling from the lamp on the wall next to the door. “Turn it off once you go to sleep. Someone will wake you shortly after dawn and provide you with breakfast, after which you’ll be fitted with temporary clothing for travel. You’ll also be informed of your itinerary.”

“Don’t I have to do anything?” He sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

“You are not expected to at this time. I bid you goodnight.”

“And, uh, you too,” he stammered. Serge gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, and closed the door. He didn’t hear anything from the corridor. He breathed deeply and looked at his knees. He was still holding Sir Luca’s primer in one hand. He put it down next to him. The sheets were soft. Someone had left a jug and a mug on the table. Beyond it was another door he’d missed the first time, and against the back wall was the low cabinet with the copper basin. It had a copper tap over it. And a mirror.

He walked over, tugging on the cord of the lamp on that side. He briefly marvelled at the luxury of running water and magical lights, but lost track as his reflection looked back at him. The serving platter had been reflective, sure, but this was different. Ardyn knew what he’d looked like, from reflections in windowpanes and expensive glassworks. He’d also known what removing the tattoo was going to do to it. His face had felt almost waxy with scarring across his jawline and cheeks. And all of that was just gone.

He reached a hand up to his face, and saw in the mirror that it was shaking. His fingertips brushed unblemished skin. There was just a fine dusting of hair, not even really stubble. His cheeks were sunken, but whole. The tattoo of dog teeth that had run from his ears to his mouth on both sides was gone without a trace. Even the nick across his left eyebrow was gone. That had been there for as long as he could remember. Ardyn carefully tucked the loose hair falling across his face behind his ears, and stared at the new eye. Leaning in, he pressed his fingertips into the lower edge, feeling the build-up of pressure and pain. His view blurred and returned to normal, and the skin was a little red.

“Shit.” He leaned both hands on the edge of the basin, and stood there looking at himself close up. It was a new start. He doubted anyone from the Guild would recognise him this way. Not that he’d seen many of them aside from his handler. He hardly even saw himself in the mirror. He’d seen his reflection once or twice during his stay in Kymar’s back-room cages. It had been a gruesome mangled mess with a ragged hole torn into it. And now a second dark brown eye looked back at him again. “Blessed be,” he whispered as he put his forehead against the mirror. The light and shadow made his face look more angular than it already was.

Ardyn stood there for some time before starting the struggle of taking off the livery he’d been snugly fitted into. So many buttons, and so small. The idea of accidentally ripping one off made him wince. The boots were easier to unbuckle, and the smooth wood under his feet felt more comfortable. The floor of the cage had been cold slab stone. He looked at the bed. It was probably plainer than whatever went for normal furniture in this place, but when was the last time he’d slept on one? Not even during the Bursard mission. Or before that. His eyes drifted to the stack of paper. He grabbed it and sat down at the table to read through it.

It turned out he had overestimated the part of that original stack which contained the command. He had also severely underestimated the primer. It was thin paper, hand-written. And apparently Sir Luca’s handwriting was meant for small notebooks, because it was sharp, crisply straight, and positively tiny. After flipping the cover sheet off, He was faced with a page that was nearly black with text. He had to squint. “Are you kidding me?” he said to himself. “Sure I can read, but this is just bullshit.”

He read until his head hurt from scrunching his eyebrows, then got rid of the rest of the livery trousers and attempted to sleep on the bed. The blanket was uncomfortably warm and it felt smothering. Even without it he couldn’t find a good spot on the bed, and in the end he decided to lie down on the floor. The wood was cool but not cold. He’d not been a deep sleeper, and it was worse when you couldn’t even tell what time it was, and whether people could walk in unannounced to prod at you. He moved to the corner between the washbasin and the door that had turned out to be the privy. He turned the light above him off, but left the one near the door on. He woke up twice during the night, spent some time pacing, and tried again.

When the knock came in the morning, he was already awake and almost jumped up from his chair. He warily eyed the door, but it stayed shut. Then the knock repeated and he realised they were waiting for a response.

“…yes?” he called, and now there was a click. However, rather than the door, one of the panels dividing the room rotated sideways.

“Good morning. I’ve been instructed to get you outfitted for a trip today.” It was the chubby servant from the day before, and she smiled at him briefly before opening up more of the divider panels. Once they were all sideways, she pushed them aside along a rail in the floor and ceiling. The other woman was already looking through the wardrobe. She had a plain tan linen shirt over her arm. “Leave the ones from yesterday on the bed. Oh, and take off the shirt.” She briskly walked over to the copper basin and turned the tap. Water clattered on metal. She opened a drawer and took out a flat disk she dropped into it. Within moments a wisp of steam rose up from the basin.

Ardyn left the shirt with the rest of the clothing, leaving him with just the underclothes. Looking down he felt both flabby and emaciated at the same time. He’d lost a lot from sitting without exercise for three years. He’d tried, of course, but it was impossible to keep up.

“Here you go.” She put a towel next to the basin and closed another drawer. “We’ll have your clothes ready in a moment. What’s your weapon of choice?”

He looked up at her with his hands in the warm water. “Uh?”

“Your weapon of choice. You’re to be armed for the trip in case of emergency. The Laskim lodge is three days away by carriage, and the area isn’t always completely safe. What weapon?” She pulled open one of the taller cupboards, and rather than clothing he saw it held a wide assortment of blades hung on all surfaces, even the back of the doors.

“Oh. Short sword and dagger.” He washed himself well, enjoying the warm water. He buried his face in the towel. It was the fluffiest thing he’d touched in his life.

“What sort of sheath for the dagger?” She took a reasonably sized sword from its hook and retrieved a belt from the drawer below. She set it aside and pulled open another large drawer full of knives and daggers.

“At the back.”

The second servant came forward with an armful of clothing. “These should be your size.” Her voice was clipped and flat. Ardyn got the impression she didn’t like him somehow. He quickly dried off and accepted the clothing from her. She took yesterday’s things with her and folded them neatly into a basket.

Once dressed in a plain shirt, black trousers, and a blue-grey overcoat, the first servant handed him the belt with both sheaths clipped on. It took some adjusting to get it to sit comfortably, but he had to admit their sizing was impeccable.

“Okay. Socks and boots here, pick a pair that fits well. And pick a blade.” She tossed him some socks, and he had a look at the drawer. He found one that fit his palm well enough, as well as simple boots. After buckling them on he looked up to find her looking at him with a frown. “How did you get your hair that messy in one night? Did you sleep with your head under the pillow or something?”

“Didn’t sleep well,” he admitted.

“Sit down.” She pulled a chair in front of the mirror. “You’re to look well-groomed and cared for. Have you ever taken care of your hair properly? No?” She proceeded to pull out the messy ponytail after he’d worked it into a tangle by half sleeping on the floor and half mussing it up all night. “Remove any laces, ribbons, or clips before you sleep. Comb before and after sleep, then replace the bindings. Practice now. Your target is how it was yesterday.” She handed him a comb and the leather lace.

He spent some time fussing over his hair while his face went redder and redder. She scolded him when he just tied everything at the back, scolded him again when he pulled it too tightly, and spent at least half an hour after trying to teach him how to make the loose-looking but solidly set tail she’d done the day before. Too low, too high. She tsk’ed and tugged his final attempt into place, somehow arranged it to flow nicely, and plucked the comb from his hands. It went into a shoulder bag already stuffed with travel supplies, handed to him along with a hooded travel cloak.

He concluded they were done when the chubby servant started rearranging the panels separating the room. He looked in the mirror. He looked… okay? He’d not really looked okay before. Plain clothes, neither shabby nor extravagant. Travel bag, simple weaponry. Clean. Neat hair, hanging around a sunken face. His eyebrows scrunched together and he looked down, letting the loose hair fall across the sides of his face.

“Wait for your escort to the entrance courtyard. Carriage leaves in an hour,” she said, and snapped the last panel into place. And then he was alone again. He felt a little forlorn, and decided to read some more of the primer. When he grabbed it from the bed, there was a note on top that read ‘do not leave confidential information unattended’ and he swore. Crap. It must’ve been the second woman, who’d been pottering about while the first one held his attention. He’d also not noticed her set a plate with bread, jam, and olives on the table.

Ardyn was already feeling a slight headache when the knock at the door came and a burly man with a ruddy face and simple clothes opened the door without waiting. “Carriage call.” Ardyn stood. Stuffed the papers into his bag, and walked close behind. The man had a large stride and unlike Serge, he wasn’t slowing for his convenience. He was breathing hard when they stepped into the courtyard. He saw now that it was larger than he’d thought, and had multiple wide exits for carriages. This time his ride was a covered wagon, half-laden with crates and long wrapped bolts of fabric.

“Find a spot in the back,” the man said, and hoisted himself heavily onto the driver’s seat. Ardyn clambered into the back and latched it shut. It smelled like apples. “If someone gets on and asks, ye’r headed to Canesta to see yer nephew.” He didn’t look back as he clapped the reins, and the wagon jostled into sudden motion. Was it a different exit than the day before? Ardyn couldn’t really tell, but the blank wall and the door quickly vanished from sight. The wagon turned into a passage between several other buildings.

He smelled bread, and at some point they seemed to pass a barrier and there were people walking across the path behind the wagon. The driver shouted a greeting at someone, and he caught a glimpse of someone closing the door of what looked like stables, maybe a merchant’s storeroom. The wagon trundled on through cobbled streets. The city was noisy with traffic and people.

Ardyn could tell they were close to the gates when the noise increased. There were always people around the gates, selling wares and seeking passage. He pulled the hood over his face a little, not enough to fully hide it – nothing said suspicious more than being completely ducked into a cloak – but enough to barely let him peek under it. The driver cheerily called out “Direction Canesta! Five copper!” at the gathered people, and someone apparently needed to go that way. The wagon shook, and he looked up to find a similarly-dressed woman clambering in and settling down opposite him. She smiled and nodded, and he nodded back. She seemed as intent on minding her own business as he was his, and so they were silent.

The trip was dull, and he ended up staring out at the receding landscape. The woman napped against the crates. She only needed a ride to the second town out, so he was alone again after that. Reading the primer in the shaky carriage proved pretty much impossible. The driver stopped briefly for lunch, and then they were off again. Ardyn snoozed a bit, waking up when two young men in coarse clothing hopped in. They greeted him cheerily and went on to talk about the weather and the crops in the fields this year. He dozed off again, travel bag tucked safely behind his legs. It got a bit overcast later in the day and the two hopped off near a farmhouse just off the road.

Their first night’s stop was a proper inn, where he paid for a room and a meal with money he’d found in the bag. Ardyn slept marginally better than the day before, and felt good enough to attempt some stretches in the early hours of morning. It felt good being able to just walk around again. He decided against walking a couple of laps around the inn for fear of being spotted, so he read some more of the primer and went downstairs just after dawn for breakfast. The driver came down around the same time. They sat apart and ignored each other.

The second day was much the same, they picked up an occasional traveller on foot, and dropped them off at a town or an intersection. The landscape went from rolling hills covered in crop fields and occasional copses of trees to wilder land with patches of shrubberies and the outskirts of the Laskim woodlands area. Their night stop was in the open this time, and they kept watch in turn. Ardyn took some time to walk around and exercise a little. Somehow, he slept exceptionally well that night, and he felt sort of human for the first time in tears. They toasted some bread over the last embers of the campfire and set off again.

“So,” said the driver, startling Ardyn out his bout of mindless staring into the trees, “What they send ye to the lodge for? Punishment or practice?” He looked over his shoulder at Ardyn.

“Practice. I suppose. Ow.” The wagon thunked into a rut in the dirt road, bouncing him on the wooden bench.

“First time?”

“Yeah. Should I be worried?”

“Depends on how hard ye can run.” The man chuckled. “Clamber on up here. I’ll give ye the spiel.” He patted a meaty hand on the seat at the front. Ardyn tested the crates for stability and managed to wobble over them and onto the seat next to the driver.

“Well then lad, welcome to Laskim Woods. If ye’r here ye’r either the best or the worst of our lot, I’ve driver both here. Either way I’m told it’s a right nasty place to be.” He steered the horses off the main road into a somewhat grassy open space among the trees. It twisted and turned between the shrubbery, then turned into a proper path again. “People coming back usually look worse. This is where they make ye _sharp_.”

Ardyn nodded. He’d been in a place like this before.

“Couple rules. One, don’t say no. Do _exactly_ as ye’r told. Two, ye’ll have one trainer. They’re the boss, everyone else is a threat. Tell nobody else who ye are, what ye do, or where ye’r going. Three, maintain appearances. Look proper at all times. Looking the part is just as important as playing the part.”

“Understood. Anything else?”

“The trainer’ll tell ye the rest, but start with that. Ye should’ve received a token, that’ll match ye with yer designated trainer.” He grinned, baring yellowed teeth. “Count their scars, lad, the fewer the worse it’s gonna be.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He rummaged in the bag, finding a wooden label with a five-petal flower on it. He also found the comb. “How much time till we get there?”

“A minute or two maybe.”

“Shit.” He pulled the lace out from his messy hair and ran his hands through it. It was less tangled than it had been, but it he was still pulling up the ponytail when they reached an overgrown stone fence. Beyond it was a shaded lawn with a neatly tended arced path leading up to a large stone and wood structure with a tall thatched roof. There were several wooden annexes, including what looked like stables and dog pens. There was a faded coat of arms over the door. They drove up right to the door. “Does this look okay?”

“Looks fine to me, lad. Good luck.” He drove off towards the stables.

Ardyn walked up a short stone stair to the door and knocked. A latch slid open with a clack, briefly showing a pair of blue eyes before clapping shut again. The door opened to reveal a lithe woman in a well-fitting shirt and leather pants. “Come in, you’re expected.”

He nodded to her, and stepped in, hand over his bag. She led him through an entry hall into what looked like a dining room. There were some tapestries hung along the walls, and a bear skin hung over the main fireplace. This place seemed to be a hunting lodge. He hadn’t recognised the coat of arms, but then again, he hadn’t finished the primer yet.

“Sis, he’s here.” There was a second woman seated at a table looking over some paperwork. There was a tag with the same flower lying next to her mug. She looked up, and locked eyes with him. She smiled softly. Ardyn felt tension pull on his shoulders; he saw no scars anywhere on her.

“You look like death warmed over.” She eyes him, assessing the sunken lines of his face and the way his clothes fit but hung slightly baggy around him. “Welcome to the lodge.”

He held up his tag. “You’re the trainer then?”

“Hahahaha no.” She laughed with a slight show of white teeth. “It’s your lucky day. _We’re_ your trainers.” She pointed a hand at her sister next to him, who whipped a second flower tag from a pocket. “I’m Yeana, she’s Kass. You will address us as sir. Sit, we’ll go over the rules.”

“Yes, sir.” He surreptitiously licked his dry lips as he sat. The driver’s words about scars ran through his head as Kass sat next to Yeana, equally sun-kissed, and equally scarless. Sir Luca really did put their highest expectations on him, it seemed.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The rules were going to be slightly different, they explained, as they’d start with running a rehabilitation programme. The twins usually ran the lodge, which also functioned as a safehouse and rest stop for Sir Luca’s agents to pass on reports. They only got sent out on the most dangerous and important missions these days, the ones Sir Luca couldn’t entrust to anyone else. The fact that they’d been assigned Ardyn’s trainers was exceptional, and according to them, an honour for him.

Ardyn himself was less sure of that last bit as he lay panting on the ground out back of the lodge. Kass had set up an obstacle course and spent the first day running him through as much of it she could before he collapsed of exhaustion. Everything hurt. And when he couldn’t stand up, she rolled him over and had him drink healing potions and stamina restoratives until he could. Rule one was that he did as he was told. Rule two was that he didn’t _stop_ doing it until he was told, and they were glad to assist him in that when he literally couldn’t move anymore.

During the first week there, the twins focused entirely on getting him back from three years in a cage to proper physical capability. Ardyn hadn’t thought it was possible to do that in such short time, and it shouldn’t have been. The body had its limits, after all, and training withered muscles back into top condition took months, if not years. So, they liberally applied healing potions and forced his body to speed things up. No expenses were spared.

There were two types of healing magic, and he was now experiencing the second. First, there was restoration, or regressive healing. It returned the body to a state it was supposed to be if no harm had befallen it. It was thus used to restore only the heaviest of wounds, scars, and lost limbs. Wounds where the body’s own healing process wouldn’t help anymore. It was very heavy on the caster energy-wise, and required high levels of skill. This made it prohibitively expensive and access was restricted to the very highest echelons of society. The second was the more common progressive healing, which accelerated the body’s own healing process. That was fuelled by the recipient’s energy rather than the caster’s, and was used widely in clinics. It was also used to make healing potions.

The advantage of this kind of magic was that it used natural processes to heal the body. Restorative magic would get rid of the wound, sure, but in his case it would also reset his body to more or less the same noodle-like consistency he started with. So instead they poured him full of healing potions to speed up the physical training. By the end of the first week he felt like one giant bruise, and wondered if he’d slosh when shaken. But he could do the obstacle course in its entirety, at high speed. He’d earned an approving nod from Kass for it, and then she’d dragged him to learn how to ride a horse and fence like a nobleman. Then Yeana had him, and she tore him down for not remembering all the details from Sir Luca’s primer. Then she gave him more reading material and crammed his head full with proper speech and court conduct.

If anything, he was glad for what training he’d had from the Guild. The one most important thing he’d retained from that was learning quickly and minimising mistakes. Yeana only almost broke his hand once for incorrect use of cutlery at a full-course dinner. He’d earned a piteous glance from the other people staying at the lodge. They mostly came across each other during meals. They spoke little aside from generic pleasantries. Every encounter had a weird tension to it, and Ardyn quickly realised that nobody gave any concrete answers to questions. It was weird to realise he was on the receiving end this time, and they were good at it.

When a new person came in, a ruddy-faced young woman who laughed easily, Yeana tasked him with filleting her and compiling a full report on who she was, what she liked, who she was related to, what her job was and would be, and how to best put her under pressure. While she improved rapidly, she was clearly a novice and within a few days he had a fairly comprehensive report to hand in. Natalya was a bright-eyed novice who was being trained for infiltration of an estate out North, he reported. He was rewarded with a curt nod.

Kass had him spar with more or less everybody else inside the compound, including the instructors. Proper swordsmanship was a pain in the ass for him. He knew short blades, covert attacks. Duelling involved pomp and procedures, and actual sustained combat. It left him sore and exhausted even after his condition had drastically improved. More often than not Ardyn lost the spars. Kass taught him personally, and she was Spartan but fair. She knew exactly how far she could push him before she started doing damage, be it physical or mental.

About two weeks in, he received the reply from Dame Morellan. He’d sent off the first letter – correctly dated and marked by a courier in Canesta – right after he arrived at the lodge. She made appropriate murmurings of grief and loss for his “father”, Sir Burt Morellan, and asked after his health and home. The contents were as agreed beforehand, so he at first saw nothing else in it, but Yeana looked at it once and started an impromptu steganography and cryptography class.

The letter contained an extra message concerning the plans. The encrypted message was rearranged from specific positions of words and letters in them. The code was decided by a series of seemingly random dots on the inside of the envelope that could just as well have come from wet ink staining it, except they were dark blue instead of the black stains from the letter’s ink. It was interesting to learn, and he wondered how the Guild handled encrypted reports and messages. The ones he’d received for his missions had mostly come through a handler, never directly to him unless they wee simple instructions that couldn’t be construed as dangerous activities of they were interrupted.

The message itself was less pleasant than the process of retrieving it, and Ardyn’s usual frown had deepened as it came out of the surface text. There’d been a significant delay, as well as a complication. To ensure that the people involved with the entire transaction, Sir Luca had assigned his people to do a transfer of the ‘debt’ Ardyn owed to an actual collector. The collector had promptly made efforts to trace the debtor, and had already located the town estate of Burt’s dear cousin. They’d also picked up on a letter being exchanged. Next they knew, a group of thugs hired to loiter around her house had gotten arrested on harassment charges.

To avoid things from escalating so soon he would have to stay away for a bit longer to avoid getting nabbed as soon as he set foot back in the capital. It also meant that there was a lot more concern focused on Dame Morellan’s estate from her peers, and Sir Luca had to take extra care with the scenario to avoid suspicion. They needed to have Ardyn’s sale coincide with a planned trip into the city, but if Ardyn got caught too early, there was a risk of him being sold to another person.

Yeana and Kass had explained to him the details of the original plot, but these revisions changed the timetable quite significantly. Ardyn would stay in the lodge for another two weeks at least. In the original plan they intended to delay his capture and have him stay in Dame Yulara’s house for at least another month, if not more, but as it stood he would likely get grabbed in days rather than weeks. That meant that whatever instruction Ardyn should have received there was cut short, and they had to step up the programme at the lodge.

Because they hadn’t planned for it, this left his instructors to figure out a replacement programme for however much time was left to them. Ardyn saw their elated smiles as a sign that he’d be given another fun skill to learn, and he politely asked to continue his existing training, as he had some things he still wished to improve on his skills. In return, they decided to squish all his doubts into one terror-filled day. Yeana shouted questions at him across the training yard while Kass did her best to skewer him. If he flubbed an answer, she would circumvent his defence and smack him with the flat of her blade. For the meal breaks he was expected to behave as if he were in the presence of nobility. By the end of the day he was bruised and battered, and mentally exhausted.

Kass gave him a ‘good enough’ for swordsmanship, and Yeana clicked her tongue at his etiquette but signed off on that. Instead she had him pick an instrument to learn to play, and Kass put him on a horse. Ardyn discovered he was not a horse person. Nonetheless it was not his position to complain, so instead he dealt with the new soreness. He turned out to be somewhat decently skilled at the violin, to his teachers’ surprise. He explained that he’d learned how to play the fiddle a long time ago. It did mess with the far more formal music for the violin, since he’d never actually been taught sheet music before, but that much he could learn without too much trouble.

With basic horse-riding skills under his belt, Kass seemed determined to get him to use a sword on horseback, but time was running out, and he was mercifully released from her plans by a messenger bird bringing in a short missive demanding his preparations for returning. Ardyn wasn’t sure if it was a relief, but at least it meant that the twins focused on consolidating his existing skills rather than starting any new ones.

As the days caught up with them, he started packing his things for the trip back to the city, back into the lion’s den. He saw the driver once, handing off another letter to precede him. The man looked at Ardyn, then at Yeana and Kass behind him, and paled visibly. He took the letter, bowed deeply to the twins, and left in a hurry. They were discussing his schedule for the last two days before his departure, and it involved some rather… strenuous exercises before he’d be allowed to rest. Ardyn could hardly wait to be free of them. Doubtless he’d still need further training on location, but that would be more work-related than this.

On the day of the departure he was presented with a saddled horse and pocket money for the trip back to the capital. As Ardyn set off to find the road and retrace his steps back to the capital, he looked behind him to see someone hand Yeana a small note that looked like it had come by bird. He felt a chill down his spine, along with a sliver of dread that he wasn’t rid of them quite yet.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Ardyn had mixed feelings about riding back into Ossevord, the capital city. He’d spent three years locked in a cage in Kymar’s cellars in there, and now he was riding back inside to get caught by another slaver, on purpose. Debt slavery was far less terrible than the criminal slavery system, but with the sum of money involved in his supposed ‘debt’ they were going to be eager anyway.

He’d gotten a note with instructions from somebody who’d popped out of a wayside shrubbery with a code phrase. In accordance, he lined up with the other people entering the city. On his turn he handed the guard his citizenship papers. Entering was a lot more involved than exiting, he found out. Even so, he was fast-laned past several traders who were having their carts inspected. He merely had to pay a small fee, which he nonetheless had to assemble from the loose change he’d been given as funds for his travel.

It felt strange to walk into the city in the middle of the day, and without a cloak to hid him. Ardyn kept glancing from side to side. His face itched and he repressed the urge to shake his hair in front of it. He’d been seeing so few people that it hadn’t been much of a problem, but his gut squirmed at the discomfort of being looked at. He stared forward, trying to ignore whatever gaze might land on his face.

He made his way through the streets towards the Morellan estate, a sizeable terraced house in the wealthier merchants’ quarter. The street saw plenty of traffic, both carts, horses, and pedestrians. Still, even the most unobservant person could spot the out-of-place men in scruffy clothing hanging around across from the waist-height cast-iron fencing that separated Dame Yulara’s front door from the public street. Ardyn spotted them from miles away and inwardly sighed at their clumsy stakeout. Stuff like this would just as likely drive their target away, but then again, he was intended to get grabbed.

So, instead, he simply rode his horse along the street, dismounted at the gates, and passed through the little gate. It clanked behind him, and he banged the heavy brass knocker several times to announce himself. A maid opened the door. He told her he was Dame Yulara’s cousin, Ardyn, and was looking for her. Her eyebrows shot up, looked beyond his face at the men across the street, then back to him. She curtsied and welcomed him in. She called inside and a young man hurried to take his horse around the back of the estate through a small arched gate. As Ardyn turned to the side to let him pass, he glanced over, and saw one of the men rushing off down the street. He stuck out like a sore thumb between the well-dressed locals.

Dame Yulara came down the large central staircase to greet him, her wife close behind. She was a stately woman, grey hair collected into a braided coif. She wore a plain silk gown in dark grey and pale blue. Her wife, who Ardyn knew to be named Giselle, was shorter and on the plump side. She wore a yellow dress with black trim and looked a little like a cheerful canary.

“Such a handsome cousin you have, dear. I can’t believe I had to wait so long to see him,” Giselle tittered. Her eyes glinted as she looked Ardyn up and down.

“I’m just sad it had to be in such circumstances. Come in, Ardyn dear, you must be tired from the journey. Anna, let’s have some tea, the nice cups please. And dinner soon.” Despite his initial impression, she spoke warmly to him and to her maid, and she smiled deeply. Her eyes crinkled.

The maid took his coat, now a finer one than his trip out of the capital, and he followed the ladies into the house. He could tell he was being brought to a private living room rather than the guest lounge. They sat him down in a comfy chair across from an oval table and a plush divan couch. The pair took the divan, and soon they were beset by a veritable mountain of small sandwiches and a pot of fragrant tea. Dame Yulara also procured a crystal in an elaborate filigree frame and set it amidst all the delectable. It rang slightly, and she waved the servants out of the room.

“There we go, all set. Nobody will overhear us now, not even the servants.” Yulara settled and sipped her tea. “Perfect. Well. Do you want to exchange pleasantries, or shall we get to business directly?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, madame, given that I’m a guest in your home.” Ardyn nodded to her politely.

“Oh please, I’m supposed to be your family, boy. Call me aunt if you wish, or just Yulara.” She waved a hand, and her teacup almost sloshed over. Giselle tittered. “I think Id like to be an aunt.”

“He’s your cousin, though, not your nephew.”

“Details. The original plan was to adopt him, anyway.” Yulara smiled wryly, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “I won’t have a son, but I can at least have a nephew.”

“I’d, er… I can do that, aunt Yulara.” He looked down and felt his face flush. Where did that come from? It wasn’t like they were _actually_ family. “I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced by the changes in the scenario.”

“My boy, I owe Lord Sorosas a humongous favour, any benefits are welcome. I’m having the time of my life with this entire adventure, and I get to have a new family member at the end that I can dote on. It may take a little longer, and be a little more distant, but I come out very favourably either way.” She poured some more tea for Giselle, who had somehow already emptied her cup. “I’m glad for the opportunity.”

“Shame about the debt thing, though.” Giselle sighed. “I think I like the idea of being an aunt, really. I was looking forward to seeing a bit more of you before, well, everything.”

“Really now, love, I hadn’t pegged you for the maternal sort.” Yulara looked aside to her wife, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Giselle smiled serenely back at her.

“I’ll do my best to meet your expectations, then, aunt Giselle.” He glanced up at her, still feeling the red in his face.

“I suppose we should discuss the next steps though,” said Giselle, “with those unsavoury types hanging around the front door. I can’t believe how crass they’re behaving. They’re picking up a knight’s descendant, by Leve, not some peasant with a drinking habit.” She waved a small sandwich in the general direction of the tall windows overlooking a courtyard garden.

“True. They could be knocking on our door any time now. Sir Sorosas picked the wrong collectors, really. We’ll have to refuse them entry, of course, but once they send in somebody with appropriate status, you’ll be in reach for them. I can keep you here for a couple of days, most likely. We’ll use that time to build up as much of a visible family relation as possible, but it’s going to be meagre.”

“I understand the original plan was to introduce me to your acquaintances first?” He asked.

“Yes. But there’s no time to set up a tea party at this rate, let alone a dinner party. All the drama we could have created.” Yulara sighed with great aplomb. “An eligible bachelor with ruggedly handsome looks, a humble background, and a tragic story of his family’s demise, who gets whisked away into debt-service and bought by the castle’s walking, talking sunbeam.

Ardyn raised an eyebrow. “Eligible bachelor?”

Seeing his expression, Yulara winced. “Well, I guess that doesn’t really fit you, does it. When they told me you were a bit glum, I’d thought more brooding and less scowling.”

“Oh you look positively belligerent, young man. My dear nephew.” Giselle chuckled. “Not a smile to be had and frowns for days.”

“My apologies for… I’m new to this.” He felt his eyebrows scrunch together and made more effort to un-scrunch them. It didn’t work well.

“Well, we can practise a little. My dearest Yulara is capable of making even me into a soppy cheerful mess, I used to be worse, you know.” Giselle looked at him, and behind her open smile and crinkled eyes, he saw a glint of something that reminded him of Luca’s soul-piercing stare a little. “Oh, look at you, tensing up at potential threats. I guess a month and a half isn’t quite enough to repress that response.”

“Giselle, stop taunting him.” Yulara swatted her wife’s knee lightly, then turned back to Ardyn. “Don’t mind her. She’s been hoping for some sword practice and she’s disappointed that we don’t have time for it.”

Ardyn looked at Giselle, trying to relax his shoulders. “My apologies, I guess?”

“It’s fine, we’ll make do with what we have. I estimate we have about three days, at most, depending on how much they respect my position here. We’ll focus most time on proper behaviour, have an outing accompanied by guards to show your face, and arrange for Lord Sorosas’ intervention. They’ve been scattering rumours about purchasing a new attendant from whatever slaver has a well-educated asset available, which means that the ones on your trail should keep you around in case they can make that sale. They’ve paid very well for the previous attendants and it’s one of the best names to have among your clientele.”

He nodded, and sipped his tea. That was really good. He drank some more, and reached for a sandwich, but hesitated.

“Please, go ahead. This is a closed setting, no need to restrain yourself. Do tell if you have any questions about the setup.” Next to Yulara, Giselle stuffed an entire sandwich into her mouth.

“What happened to their previous attendants?” He asked before doing the same.

“Oh, nobody told you?” Yulara chuckled. “I think Lord Sorosas threw two out of the castle, and had another one executed for spilling confidential details related to a court case. And that’s the three most recent ones, which were all slaves. Before that he hired two others, one got fired almost immediately and the other was ‘promoted’ to a countryside estate. They don’t have a good track record. Ah, and I think there was one more that was appointed by the Temple of Veretrea, who got sent back.”

“And the one that got pushed out a window last year,” Giselle added between sandwiches.

“Ah right, I forgot about that poor soul. She was actually sort of good at her job. I suppose that’s why she got defenestrated.”

“Wait, seven? Aren’t they only twenty-six?”

“Indeed. In as many years. Good help is so hard to find, and harder to keep under one’s control. Which is why they’ve invested in several highly educated slaves in the last years, but even that’s proven to be troublesome. There’s rumours going around that somebody’s found a way to subvert the regular slave collars. Massive problem, I’m sure you understand why.”

Ardyn shuddered, and touched the high collar of his shirt. It hid the silver choker from view.

Before he could ask more, there was a knock on the door. Dame – no, aunt Yulara touched a finger to the crystal. “Enter.”

Anna, the maid, peeked her head in. “Madame, there’s three people on the steps that are asking for money. They say the young master owed them a sizeable amount.” Her eyes flicked to Ardyn, who rubbed his face. “They’re shouting demands and making a fuss and people are looking.”

“How rude. Have Jerris and Raj send them away. Call out for the city guard if they don’t leave.”

“Yes madame. Also, dinner should be ready soon.”

“Excellent, dear. Thank you.” Yulara turned back to Ardyn, and the maid took that as her dismissal. She shut the door, and Yulara tapped the crystal again. “That was rather quick. Do you have the bird ready, dear?”

“I already sent it out when I saw him stop at the gate.” Giselle grabbed another sandwich, and stood up. “Shall we head out to the hall? I’d love for them to make the fuss worse and intervene.”

“You’re being nasty, dear. But I suppose.” Yulara stood as well, and Ardyn followed them back the way they came. “Wait here, Ardyn,” she said as they reached the door to the entrance hall. There were sounds of shouting.

Yulara strode into the hall, followed by Giselle. Ardyn hid behind the door and peeked through the gap. There were two men in uniform with swords at their sides next to the door, arguing with the very men who’d been lurking across the street. Apparently, they hadn’t even waited for better-suited backup from the collection company. Or they simply didn’t care. Anna had taken cover somewhere. The men looked to Yulara as she strode at them, and from their expressions Ardyn could parse the thunderhead she brought into the room.

“What is this disgraceful behaviour in my house,” she exclaimed, and the two guards quickly bowed at the waist.

“I apologise for this, madame, we were just asking for these people to leave.”

“Why are they even here? Why are they across my gate, and _on my steps?”_ She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Get out of my house or I’ll have the city guard here.”

“Ma’am, the man you’ve got inside owes us a lot of money, and—”

“I do not care, and I will not have you people on my steps. You are unwelcomed to this estate, and you have no permission to even stand on the land beneath it. Get out.”

“Burt Morellan—”

“Is not here, and even if he were alive and here, I would still not let _you_ lot in. Get out of my house, now, or I will have the city guard come in to arrest you.” She imperiously pointed one finger straight out the door, and while the men grumbled about coming back later they did end up leaving. One of the guards slammed the door shut behind them.

“Madame, I am so sorry about this—”

“It’s okay, Raj, I was expecting this to happen. And they’ll probably come back, as they said. They’re here for my nephew and I don’t think I can protect him from them indefinitely.”

“Is it that bad, madame?” Raj looked genuinely worried.

“We’ve been talking about what happened to Burt, and the mess he left behind for Ardyn. You can come in by the way, dear.”

Ardyn stepped into the hall. “I’m so sorry for this, aunt Yulara. I hadn’t expected them to be this rude about it.” The words sounded weird coming from him, but this was his role to play. “I doubt I can escape them forever, but at least if they have to take me from here, I’ll be in a better position than if they’d taken me in Canesta.”

“What should we do when they return, madame?” The other guard, Jerris, asked.

“Notify the city guard to keep an eye out for ruffians around the house. If we chase these people away for long enough, someone proper should show up sooner or later with paperwork and formalities. I want to at least see my nephew’s face for a while before they cart him off.” She sighed, and Giselle clung to her arm.

“I know you were looking forward to this so much, love, are you sure we can’t pay it off?”

“I’m not _that_ rich, Giselle. You know that. I don’t even know how that idiot even—but we shouldn’t be talking about this here, I’m sorry Ardyn. Anna, is dinner ready yet? I could use something right now.”

“I’ll set the table immediately, madame.” Anna curtsied and rushed off to wherever the dining room was.

“My apologies again, madame. We’ll make sure you’re not disturbed like this again.” Raj and Jerris bowed slightly and went off to their duties, and the ladies walked Ardyn to the dining room.

Dinner was lavish to him, but he knew it was simple compared to what the castle served its inhabitants. After all, Dame Yulara was a childless third or fourth generation descendant of a knightly title. While a few members of the family could officially call themselves the same, their title was mostly a vanity. In the end she made her money from owning a bit of land outside the city, and a store that sold a smattering of imported goods. She was much like her neighbours, the well-to-do merchant families.

The amount of money they’d fabricated as his father’s debt was out of reach to her, but not so high that someone of a higher standing couldn’t afford to buy it off. The sum of just over six hundred silver, more than his worth as a criminal slave, was enough to deplete all of Yulara’s reserves and then some. She wouldn’t be able to purchase new goods for the store or hire farmers for the fields. It drove home how exorbitantly high his own purchase price had been.

After dinner Anna showed him to his room. It had tall windows overlooking the interior courtyard from the first floor. It was a simple enough guest room with a single bed, a table, and a chair, without any sanitation in the room itself. She lit the candles for him. From her piteous glances and a whisper caught through an opened window from the courtyard below, he concluded that the servants had not been told of the situation. That was for the best, too, since it would mean more risk of discovery. The exchange in the entrance hall earlier would cement his relation to the Dame in their minds, as well as some compassion for him for inheriting this mess. So far, so good.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

On the second day they went over the paperwork he had on him, bits and bobs confirming the debt and his responsibility for it. Ardyn had to admit, they’d implicated him very deeply. There were even loans made out in his own name, workarounds to get more loans. Most creditors would refuse to lend to those who already had loans. While Canesta was a sizeable city in its own right, there were a limited number of offices who would lend to Burt Morellan, and they tended to exchange clientele information. There were even several well-aged papers indicating older loans that had been repaid, partially in terms and partially in lump sums. Small notes in the margins made it clear they’d been repaid with newer loans. It was a terrible mess.

In between that they quietly went over the next steps of the scenario while Giselle busied the servants with preparations for a small tea party. They had a few guests over in the afternoon, two of the neighbour ladies and one of their daughters. Mostly they’d either seen or heard the argument on Yulara’s steps and were there to gossip. As a fellow guest, Ardyn was invited to join them, so he politely murmured his thanks and social niceties over a cup of tea. The daughter seemed rather distraught about the entire thing and kept trying to lean over to him.

Yulara vehemently refused any offered help on his behalf, and even refused to tell them the amount of money involved. Ardyn himself spoke of “not wishing such a burden” on people who were not involved. He’d rather not even have involved his aunt in it. The ladies tittered sadly in return, and one of the two patted his hand lightly.

Once they were satisfied with knowing exactly what was up with him, they left. Doubtless they would spread the news around quickly. The group of thugs from the day before were out of the street this time, but their absence was just as marked as their presence at this point. Things were in motion.

The third day was quiet, and Ardyn practiced dancing with Giselle, who enjoyed the entire thing immensely. On the fourth day came the expected visitor. It came with a polite but resolute knock on the door. Ardyn was walking in the upstairs hallway when he heard it. Despite knowing this had been meticulously planned, he felt his gut squirm. The young footman who’d come to take his horse, Urfan, opened the door and nodded to the well-dressed man waiting on the steps. He was welcomed in and sat in a chaise in the entrance hall while Urfan fetched Dame Yulara.

Ardyn stepped out onto the landing and looked down. The man made eye contact with a flat face, and Ardyn frowned and sighed. He let his shoulders slump. Yulara strode in on the ground floor, saw the man, and grimaced. “Oh, Ardyn, you’re here already,” she said, following his line of sight to the staircase. “Please, let us sit in the parlour. I’d rather not have this conversation in the hall.”

“Of course, madame. Thank you for allowing me into your home today, I promise we shan’t be long.” He rose and followed her. Ardyn came down the stairs and walked behind the collector. The front parlour was less cosy, less personal, and looked out over the street in front. He could see a coach with several escorts waiting out front. The collector sat with his back to the window so they could always see it behind him, and introduced himself as Trevor Suvelson. “I do apologise for the rather rude intrusion on your peace earlier, I had only asked for someone to keep an eye on things. I’ve had those men punished severely for their unbecoming behaviour. I hope I can clear up the misunderstanding.”

“Of course, mister Suvelson. I am glad the mistake was corrected.” Yulara’s voice was clipped and formal. She did not offer him tea.

“Yes, yes. Also, my condolences on the loss of your cousin, Dame Morellan, and you your father, young man. I know this must’ve been a hard time. Even so, there is a pressing matter that must be resolved.”

Ardyn nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “The debt. I know.”

“Yes. I have purchased the totally of the debt from various offices in Canesta. They reached out when they heard that Sir Morellan had passed, and his son and heir was planning on heading out of town. I heard you spoke with some of them about this?”

“Yes. I can’t repay them, nor was anyone there likely to pay for it.” He hunched over in his chair, pressing his fingers into his hands until they where white. “I knew it was a lot, but I only realised how much when I found my father’s papers.”

“You’re right about that.” Suvelson rifled through his own copy of papers, a set of receipts from the lenders involved. “This comes to a total of six hundred and fifty-four silver cytyr, and about eighty or so copperlings in loose change. As agreed, the house in Canesta has been auctioned off, which came to thirty-five silver cytyr. That leaves six hundred and nineteen, disregarding the copper.”

Ardyn winced at the sale price. “I’d hoped for more than that.”

“I am told the house was in a bad state of repair, and most of your father’s possessions had already been sold off to various stores.” He flipped through the pages, and looked up at Ardyn, then to Yulara. “I trust you are informed of the details, madame?”

“I am.” She looked at Ardyn. “I knew Burt was in debt, but the amount of it shocked me when my dear cousin told me.” She put one hand over her heart.

“And I’m sorry for bringing it to your home, aunt Yulara.” He briefly tugged his mouth to the side, but it wasn’t really much of a smile. “Let me say first, I will not involve her in this. The debt is mine to shoulder. And if that means, well, setting a sale price, I will bear that on my own.”

Suvelson raised an eyebrow. “So why come here in the first place? She is related, so—”

“So nothing. The debts are in mine and my father’s name, not hers. They were cousins, debt responsibility only applies to one-step relatives.” Ardyn interrupted him loudly and narrowed his eyes. “I came here only so I wouldn’t end up in salaried servitude to pay it off. At least here there’s a chance somebody can afford to pay it off in return for a servitude agreement with an actual end date.”

Suvelson tapped his knee a few times, then nodded. “I can see that. But it does mean I have to set a purchase price at the full height of the remaining debt. And if nobody pays up, you’re up for repayment service anyway.” His eyes roved over Ardyn’s body, and he shuddered under that gaze.

The way debt servitude worked, is that the debtor would offer themselves as a slave in return for full payment of the debt. The purchaser, generally someone wealthy, would pay a lump sum and set up a contract for an appropriate period. The debtor would fulfil that without pay for as long as they saw necessary to repay their new owner. Those people generally ended up with someone in need of servants that couldn’t run away, and the conditions could become dire if the owner abused that power over them. With higher social standing the risks were lower and negotiation about the contract was possible, but even so, there were stories about people ending up warming nobles’ beds for years. On the other hand, if the price was too high for your relative worth, the collector could put the debtor under a slave contract themselves and rent them out to whomever wanted them. The prices on that were low, which meant it might take a lifetime to repay high debts. Those people also often ended up in manual labour or in brothels. Chances of that happening here in Canesta were far higher than here in Ossevord, where there was a larger wealthy community centred around the royal castle.

“Do you wish to confirm the sum as it is, or do you have any repayment to reduce it further before we set up the sale agreement?” Suvelson pulled a folded paper out of his coat. He’d been prepared for this.

Yulara gave him a sour look. “Is it necessary to do this this quickly, mister Suvelson? And here in my home?”

“Madame, no offense, but some of the original loans were _ten years_ overdue. If I let these lie around for any longer, it’s not just my credibility but also the original creditors’ that goes out the window. At this point I could send this to court to have your cousin arrested. And I doubt either of us wants that debacle out in public court.” He pointedly looked at her, waving a hand enshrined amongst golden rings. He would do it in a heartbeat, but was making a show of this to give her face.

“I’ll confirm it. I have the original paperwork with me. I can also offer my horse as a final payment.” Ardyn set a hand on the armrest of Yulara’s chair briefly, then stood up. “Please give me a moment, I’ll fetch everything.” He walked off to his room.

Suvelson watched him leave. There was little risk of Ardyn fleeing. Even if he tried to leave, the guards outside would stop him or have the city guard do so. If he did manage to run, he’d be a fugitive. In that case Dame Yulara would be implicated in the debt as well, being the one who had harboured him. “You have a good cousin, madame.”

“And yet you’re here to take him away from me.” She sat straight, looking at the collector.

“One has to repay one’s debts.”

“That too is true. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

Noise from the street filtered in through the tall glass windows, breaking the silence between them. Ardyn came back into what felt like a duel. He held the stack of crumpled, yellowed paper under his arm. Gisella trailed behind him, and Anna after that, bearing a tray of tea. There was a brief period of polite murmurings as they settled back down, and Suvelson sipped his tea slightly. Gisella slurped a little, which made Yulara glare at her. Ardyn thought he could see Giselle give her a look.

He spread out the papers on the table, and he provided his own tabulated total to compare with the receipts from the Canestan lenders. There was a slight discrepancy in the coppers, but that was likely an error in “Burt’s” administration. It satisfied Suvelson, anyway. They also agreed on the sale of the horse at ten silver cytyr, given it was a trained animal and came with fitted travel gear. Aside from a few personal items it was the last of Ardyn’s possessions. He took a few deep breaths before signing the agreement of personal sale.

And just like that he was led out of the house and into the coach to be brought to Suvelson’s office. “Well,” he remarked on the way out, “maybe you’ll be lucky. There’s been word from up in the castle that the Lord High Justiciar is recruiting for an assistant.” He chuckled. “Then again, not sure if that’s luck for you.” He pressed a hand in Ardyn’s back to get him into the coach. There was a single shackle coming from below the front bench, which he clapped around Ardyn’s leg.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Yulara snapped from the door.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to the last ones. But at least he pays well for skilled servants.” Suvelson got into the coach and sat across from Ardyn, who decided he _really_ didn’t like this man. “As a courtesy I’ll let you know what happens to him, madame. Consider it a service on the house.” He pulled the door shut with a clack.

Dame Yulara tsk’ed and raised a hand to wave goodbye to Ardyn. Behind her Giselle was blotting her eyes with a handkerchief. People in the streets watched the coach leave, and someone tried to approach the pair but found the door slammed shut in their face.

“Don’t count on it though,” Suvelson said. “You’re way too expensive for, well, _you_ ,” and he indicated Ardyn’s general existence with one hand. “I’ll contact the castle to see if I get lucky, but if he doesn’t respond I’m putting you on the auction immediately.”

Ardyn hmm’ed in response and looked out the window of the coach. People looked in on occasion, but there was little out of the ordinary about the coach. At their destination an armed guard retrieved him, clapped a pair of manacles on him, and pulled him out of the coach by the arm. Ardyn felt the woman squeeze slightly and saw her frown, then nod to her partner who grabbed his other arm. Together they led him inside despite a short comment that he could walk on his own and wasn’t going anywhere. They stuffed him in a cell and left him there. He didn’t see Suvelson again.

And suddenly he was entirely alone, and back in a cage. He paced a little in the narrow, barred cell, then sat down on the single bed. It was marginally better than two months ago, but it felt like the ceiling was creping down on him. He didn’t know how long he sat there, hunched in on himself, but daylight was replaced by torchlight at some point and somebody dropped off a simple meal. Again, better than three months ago, but a prisoner’s meal nonetheless. And nobody came for him. So he slept.

Or at least he tried. He’d been getting better at sleeping through at least half the night, but now he was awake every few hours again. It didn’t help that they left a torch burning at all time, and the guard on post moved every now and then. Noises from outside the tiny window disturbed him. Once a hint of pink showed up outside, he simply gave up on actually sleeping and just lay on the bed. He wasn’t sure how long it would take before Sir Luca sent someone for him, but it felt like an eternity. Maybe they’d just let him wait forever, and Suvelson would hire him off to some slavedriver. Or some asshole would come in first and buy him up before Luca could intervene.

But Suvelson proved true to his word, and even came in person to tell him he’d been put on hold until someone could take a look at him. He told Ardyn to be on his best behaviour and exaggerate whatever skills he had. The dismissive tone made it clear Suvelson had little hope for him, but he wasn’t above schmoozing to rake in the money he was owed. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that things were proceeding as planned and he’d be out of here soon.

They made a show of getting him shaved and freshened up before they brought him out to the client area. There was only one guard now, in his absolute best uniform and shined boots. He looked like he was about to face his worst nightmare. Ardyn wondered if he’d have the imprint of the man’s hand on his arm after this. The guard knocked on a door until Suvelson’s voice bade him to enter. He breathed hard through his nose and opened the door.

And there was Sir Luca, looking straight at them. They sat in a single chair with a dark green sable-lined mantle draped over it. The guard winced, then bowed and pushed Ardyn forward. “As you requested, sir. I’ll take my leave.” He stepped out as quickly as he could manage without tripping.

Luca looked him up and down with a flat face, then turned back to Suvelson. “Well, from your explanation he seems motivated enough, at least. And he wouldn’t look too out of place. Better than the others I’ve seen today.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, milord. Please, ask away.” He gestured at Ardyn to step a little closer.

“Morellan, isn’t it?” Luca said, looking at him again. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes sir, Lord Sorosas.” Ardyn bowed formally to them. “I am honoured to be in your presence.”

“Stand straight. How much experience do you have with administrative work?”

“I’ve managed a small household and assisted the clerk in my home town with organising harvest taxes and censuses, milord.”

“Hm, to be expected. Any combat experience?”

“My father taught me swordsmanship, milord, and I can handle a knife fairly well. I’ve not fought any battles but I am confident in fighting off a bandit or two.” Ardyn held his hands clasped in front of him. There was an itch on his nose. Luca’s gaze gave him the shivers, but he still held it.

Luca steepled their fingers and leaned in. They were silent for a while. Then they blinked. “How much did you say his full payoff was?”

“Seven hundred silver cytyr, milord – but I can lower it to six seventy-five by taking off the costs I made to collect.”

“I’ll take him.”

“Eh?”

“Do you have a basic contract at hand?” Luca switched his gaze to Suvelson, who abruptly looked down at the table between them. “He’s not flinched away all this time I’ve looked at him,” they added softly.

Suvelson looked sideways at Ardyn, who glanced at him briefly before returning to Sir Luca’s face. Ardyn swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “For this amount and milord’s position, I’ll set the term at ten years, with prolongation at milord’s discretion.”

Luca waved a hand at him and stood up from their chair. “I trust you know the rates. Tasks to be decided as they occur. I’ll provide the collar.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Luca stepped in front of him while Suvelson edited the standardised contract, and quickly tapped the spot where the magic stone sat on Ardyn’s collar with the hand out of sight from the collector. He felt it unlock silently. They mouthed “drop it” and held their hand at waist level. Ardyn leaned forward a little and felt the silver choker slide under his overshirt. Some unobtrusive wiggling, and it dropped into his hands. Luca deftly snatched it, then put their other hand on Ardyn’s chin, tilting their face in several directions.

“The contract’s filled out, milord.” Suvelson turned the paper for them to read, and set down the pen next to it. “If it please you.”

Luca turned, letting go of his chin. They glanced over the contract briefly, nodded, and set a swirling signature under it. “You’ll find this a very favourable deal, Morellan. Sign off on this and put this on.” They reached into their coat pocket and produced the choker. It clattered onto the table next to the paper.

Ardyn took a moment to read the thing, for appearance’s sake. He took the pen and let it hover over the paper for a moment, eyes tightly shut, then signed it. Under both Luca’s and Suvelson’s scrutiny he unbuttoned the high collar of his shirt and put on the choker he’d only just taken off. It clicked together, but without any light effects like last time.

“I am now your master, Ardyn Morellan. You will obey.” They Grabbed the mantle and swung it across their shoulders in one smooth motion.

“Yes, master.” Ardyn bowed deeply, then stood at attention with a blank face.

“My escort will provide your payment. With me, Morellan. And call me ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’.” They strode out of the room and down the hall to the doors.

“Yes, my lord,” said Ardyn, and followed suit. This, finally, was the _real_ start.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Sir Luca strode out through the doors. A servant hurriedly held them open for them. The mantle shimmered in the sunlight, but it was dark compared to their hair. They alighted the carriage, a luxury gilt-encrusted affair with fine-spoked wheels and a pair of white horses at the front. The storefront had only a short path before it met the street, but the carriage was parked some distance from the fence, and guards were posted to keep people at a distance. This, of course, meant that everybody in the street was gathered at that exact distance to have a look.

Ardyn followed behind Luca, focusing very hard on the hem of their mantle. People cheered for the Lord High Justiciar, but he could hear muttering when he followed after. He halted at the side of the carriage as Sir Luca settled in. There was a servant standing there, still bowed, waiting to close the door.

“Hmm? In you go, sit here.” They pointed at the window seat opposite their own.

Curious faces peered in through the glass from beyond the line of guards. Ardyn bowed quickly and climbed in, sitting where he was told. He felt his shoulders sink slightly, and a warm spot of pain between his shoulder blades radiated out from where he’d been holding tension. From the corner of his eye he saw people milling about on the street, squeezing past the carriage. The servant closed the door and the guards turned sideways alongside the carriage. A spear glinted in the sunlight.

“Well,” said Luca, looking up at him from under long lashes, “that’s that then. A little late and a little early.” They smiled briefly. The carriage only shook briefly, then smoothly picked up speed.

Ardyn didn’t know whether he was expected to say anything, so he didn’t. He sat up very straight on the plush seat. Even the floor was carpeted. What wood was in sight was lacquered a dark glossy chestnut. He felt a slight tingle from his side where he leaned close to the outer wall. That made him realise it was very quiet in the carriage, and even the clattering of the wheels over the flagstones was muffled.

“You don’t really do much with your face aside from frowning, do you?” They abruptly asked, interrupting Ardyn’s examination of the carriage. “I don’t think I’ve seen you look anything other than stern or irritated. One might even say grumpy.”

“I… apologise? Sir?” Ardyn looked at Luca, trying to feel if he was indeed frowning. There was some pinching on his brow, and he tried to release it.

“Ah. Hm. Well.” He couldn’t quite put a name to their expression, but it was clear that he hadn’t really made an improvement. “Keep working on that, I suppose. I hope you’ve picked up the twins’ lessons properly, things are picking up and I have little time to get you trained here. I’ll try to bring them in for further classes as soon as possible though.”

“You’re bringing them in from the lodge, sir?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I have only a handful of instructors capable of raising you up to where I want you, and they’re the best. Serge can train you with service and administration until they arrive. I expect you to follow him as you would follow me.”

“Yes, sir.” Ardyn nodded deeply. Full orders should be acknowledged with a bow, he knew from the etiquette lessons. But it was hard to bow while seated in a carriage.

Luca looked out the window. Ardyn took a moment to examine them more closely now they weren’t in either direct sunlight or backlit. Aside from the unsettling golden eyes, they looked normal. Their skin was slightly tanned and he saw one or two freckles. A straight and narrow nose over rounded and faintly glossy lips. A round chin and a soft jawline. Luca’s golden eyebrows – as far as he could tell, every single hair was the same rich gold colour – were somehow full enough to break the curve of their brow, yet also delicately arched away. Even they eyelashes were gold. But under all that radiance they looked tired, the skin around their eyes crinkled and slightly puffy. There was a smattering of fine powder that carefully extended across their cheekbones to hide any redness.

“What?” they said, glancing sideways at him.

“Nothing, sir. I’ll do my best to lighten your load as quickly as possible.”

“Mmh.” They looked outside again, propping their chin on one hand, elbow on the edge of the window. The carriage crossed the plaza in front of the castle gates, smoothly rounding the large fountain topped with a statue of a man in armour astride a rearing horse. Amur-Sephar the First gazed out of his helmet with bronze eyes overlooking the capital of the kingdom he’d united under his name many centuries ago.

Ardyn saw the horse’s ass disappear from view behind one of their jostling escorts as they turned to pass through the main gate. Shadow fell across the carriage, followed by the sight of the massive stone gatehouse looming over them. Then they arrived in a wide-open space, the front yard leading up to the main steps and doors of the castle proper. There were guards and soldiers everywhere, lazily watching over various servants and castle inhabitants going about their daily jobs.

Over the years the castle had swallowed up the original town inside these walls, becoming a miniature city in and of itself. The fountain had been moved outside the gates years ago to stay in sight of the populace. The original donjon was long gone or embedded so deep it wasn’t visible anymore.

“We’ll be entering through the main gate this time. Follow at proper distance behind me, and expect this to be a long walk. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and always bow to anybody that does unless they’re wearing livery.”

“Yes, sir. Sir Yeana has instructed me.”

“There’s difference between instruction and reality. I tend to stay in the quieter sections of the castle, honestly.” Luca scowled but instantly switched to a gentle smile when the carriage passed someone. “On your toes now, and fold down your shirt’s collar so they can see the choker.”

The carriage came to a stop at the paved terrace leading up to the steps. It was a plaza in its own right, nothing like the short two-step paths with maybe one or two steps that the wealthy town-houses had. The guards stood at attention around the carriage, and the servant stepped up to open the door. The sounds of marching boots and chattering personnel rushed in, and Luca gracefully descended from the carriage. Several people curtsied in his direction.

Ardyn followed as soon as Sir Luca stepped far enough away that there was a full pace between him and the hem of their mantle. He looked straight forward at the back of their head, trying to catch as many details as possible without glancing around. The stairs were absolutely massive, towering the height of at least three men above the plaza. Thirty, maybe forty steps, twice as wide as the entire thing was tall. The brass-plated doors of the main hall stood open, towering above them and glittering in the sun. Guards in bright blue uniforms lined the stairs on either side.

Luca raised one hand and briefly said “Dismissed” to their own guards, who hurried off with the carriage. Their mantle flowed behind them as they ascended the steps, into the domain of those who stood atop the Kingdom of Amur. Ardyn felt like the looming edifice would fall forwards and crush him under its mass, all heavy stone blocks and narrow glass windows. He had to hurry to keep up with Sir Luca’s slow but long stride. He saw them nod at several people on the way who curtsied or briefly bowed while looking at their feet or hands, but never at their face.

They were stopped by a surprising number of people once they were inside. Luca did their best to make a beeline straight through the centre of the humongous hall, aiming for the next set of doors at its end. They were interrupted six times in the very first hall, all nobles expressing their admiration and congratulating them on the purchase of a new servant. Luca smiled through all of it, and Ardyn bowed from the hip until his back was sore. None of them looked at Luca’s face higher than the bland smile, and spared him only a dismissive glance from head to toe as if to size up a piece of meat. His face was impassive, which seemed to annoy some of them.

The next hallway ran across this one, and was less busy but apparently busy enough to be stopped a few more times. They crossed straight through this part of the castle, alongside several courtyards lined with tall arched colonnades of white stone and shiny blue and green glazed tiles in the ceiling. More people curtsied to Luca, and fewer came up to talk the further in they went. At one point they passed a pair of green-clad guards, and the hallways became quieter. There were barely any nobles here, only liveried servants. Soon they encountered Cecilia, and Ardyn realised they were in the section where Luca’s office was.

The double doors of their office were at the end of a long hallway where it split at straight angles to the sides. The doors opened smoothly as the two of them approached, revealing Serge in a slight bow. He closed the door behind them.

“Welcome back, sir. You have an appointment at four with Duke Timur, to discuss the intrusion in the southwestern storehouses yesterday. He has made it clear that he is not pleased. Shall your new assistant be attending?”

“Right, that. Make sure there’s a carafe of wine ready, I don’t want a repeat of last time. And no, mister Morellan will not be attending. He doesn’t have the proper wardrobe for that yet. Please bench him for now.” They walked across the room and looked out across the castle grounds from the tall windows.

“Of course, sir. I’ve arranged for the tailor to come tomorrow. Do you wish to install him in miss Soraya’s old quarters?” Serge nodded, and glanced at Ardyn. He felt like he was doing something wrong, but didn’t know what.

“No, I want him closer, set up the servant’s room attached to my own quarters. You have permission to bring a few maids in to clean the place.”

“As you wish, sir. Anything else?”

“Nothing comes to mind.” They waved a gloved hand. “Dismissed.”

Serge bowed again, then turned to leave. “With me, mister Morellan.”

Ardyn looked between Serge and Sir Luca, uncertain. Luca didn’t say anything. Serge put a hand on his shoulder and rotated him towards the doors. The man was… surprisingly strong for someone already fully grey. Ardyn made a brief noise of protest but before he knew it he was out the doors and they clicked shut behind him. “Shouldn’t I stay with them? Isn’t that my job?”

“It will be, but you lack the proper clothing to attend them right now. You cannot face the Duke in this.”

“He’s…” Ardyn tried to recall the name’s associated rank. “He’s the actual spymaster, right? Directly under the King?”

“Keep your voice down. Yes. Which is exactly why milord cannot have you in that room. You may have excelled at your studies these past two months, but that is a single corn of grain compared to the loaf of bread needed to deal with the Duke.” Serge steered him towards a staircase leading down. “For today you will be introduced to the house staff, and someone will show you around to familiarise you with the layout. Ah, here we go. Maya, a moment?”

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped a liveried woman wearing trousers and a sword at her waist coming out of a somewhat noisy room. She bowed slightly. “Yes, mister Nemitz?”

“This is Ardyn Morellan, Lord Sorosas’ newly purchased assistant. Please show him around the house, and have him on the bench by four.”

“Yessir.” She nodded, and looked Ardyn up and down. “Nice. Come along Ardyn, I’ll give you the grand tour.” She held out a hand for him to shake, which he did. Firmly, to avoid getting his fingers squished. What was it with people being unexpectedly stronger than they looked?

Serge paced off elsewhere to arrange his lord’s requests, which left Ardyn with Maya. He stood there awkwardly, unsure whether he should say something.

“So, you’re their lordship’s new pet then?” Her eyes lingered on the silver choker. “Let’s hope you last longer than the last one. Oh, right, I’m Maya, I’m head of the guard for this wing of the palace area. Ever been in the palace before, Morellan? Or is just Ardyn okay?”

“I think Ardyn is okay? And no. This is my first time in the castle.” He stood stiffly with his hands at his sides.

“Even first time in the castle? Man have you got a good time ahead of you. Come along and I’ll let you see the basic layout. The place is a maze.” She hooked her arm through his, and marched him along. “This is the ground floor of the palace proper, the core of the castle town. Were connected to the central area that houses the royal family and the very highest of the castle’s inhabitants, closest to the Queen’s wing.”

She chattered as they went along, occasionally dipping into rooms to introduce him to several servants milling around. The ground floor housed a kitchen and servants’ quarters, as well as sanitary services, offices and rooms for the personnel of the internal justice department, and a block of luxurious cells. As High Justiciar, Sir Luca was primarily in charge of levying justice over Amur’s nobility. These were people who were generally less easily affected by laws due to their high standing, and the High Justiciar stood by the Queen’s side to manage the internal affairs of the court. Even if they were accused, let alone declared guilty, they had to be treated with respect at all times.

On the second floor was Luca’s office, their personal quarters which took up a full corner of the available space, several large suites for ‘guests’, and a few official rooms for meetings or interrogations. The third floor consisted mostly of the passages that ran above the second floor rooms, interspersed with space for high ceilings and defensive constructions from earlier times, when the palace was still the entirety of the castle, and this building looked out over the town. Now it looked over various low buildings terracing out from it.

The building connected to the rest of the palace on the two-ended side of its U-shaped plan, leading into the main corridors. The entire structure towered above most of the rest of the castle. The palace, the true core of the thing, sat on what was originally a rocky point crowning a large hill. By now that meant it sat highest over a mass of buildings that sloped away from it. Below everything were older structures, now cellars and storerooms. Nobody much used those anymore, Maya added with a wink.

The second floor had a fairly simple corridor layout due to the large suites and rooms, but the ground floor was more complex. That meant it was easier to find a quiet corner and duck out of sight. Before he knew it they were in a narrow hallway walking through a wall panel and into the hidden corridors behind it. He blinked at the sudden low-light space, and Maya let go of him to walk in front in the narrow corridor. They meandered, and every now and then bits of light came in from the rooms. He recognised a few from outside. Maya talked very softly now, explaining that while there was a little soundproofing in here, anything over a whisper was still audible outside. They went up and down two steep staircases. Peeking through a small hole in a wall he saw they just went over a doorway.

“I recommend wandering around in here until you get the hang of it, really,” Maya softly said over her shoulder. “Mister Nemitz expects people to be on time when called, and to be available everywhere in the building. And it can be a bit confusing, but it’s often fairly easy to use the sneaky path to get somewhere faster. Here, we’re at the outer walls now.” She patted the heavy stone blocks at her side. “We can get the main backdoor stairs from here and get you to the bench.”

“So what’s the bench?” Ardyn asked. He was so completely lost that he’d likely die in this place if she didn’t lead him somewhere he recognised easily. They hadn’t met anyone in here, either.

“It’s what we call the spot behind Sir Sorosas’ office. I’m not actually allowed all the way there, so I’m gonna walk you as far as I’m allowed and drop you off. This way.” She made a sharp turn, and suddenly he was somewhere he recognised. Ahead of him was a heavy door on one side, and a stone staircase leading up across from it. This was the courtyard door. “Here’s where most of the agents come in, and they head all the way up to the third for debriefing and reassignment.”

“I see.” He nodded at her back. They turned to the stairs and went up. He was silently relieved that he made it to the top without getting out of breath this time. The path they followed was sort of familiar. They passed by the room where he’d stayed that first night. He heard the faintest murmur of someone talking from behind the door, but he couldn’t stop and listen. “Why are these corridors here anyway?”

“Oooh, that’s a great story. See, this wing used to be for a harem. Makes it easy to sneak in from the palace proper and visit one of them without the others knowing. Apparently there were vicious fights between concubines over who was ranked highest, so this was built to keep ‘em satisfied. And now it’s our quiet, soundproofed, and covertly navigable headquarters.”

“A harem in the Queen’s wing?”

“Well it was _her_ harem,” Maya said, waggling her eyebrows at him over her shoulder. “But it fell out of use a long time ago, and I think it’s been allotted to internal justice for well over a century now. Privacy and all, given the subject of the cases they handle.”

He tilted his head and hmm’d. That made sense. “Did all the justiciars make use of these corridors?”

“I think about halfway through? It was in use when I started here eleven years ago, before Sir Sorosas had them install the current security spells.” She tapped a finger against the wall, which was now bricks or wood on both sides again. “Nobody in here except with clearance. It’s gotten a bit quieter. Easier now I don’t have to squeeze past every random servant wanting to take a shortcut.” She shrugged. “Anyway, this is where my clearance ends. Go straight, then turn right down the stairs. There’s a seat set against the wall at the end, that’s the bench. You can listen in on the office from there.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s my job, Ardyn.” She smiled and let him pass her. “Memorise the layout well, and you might even find me again.” She turned around and walked off, suddenly turning left where he was fairly sure they had not, in fact, passed an intersection. She waved a hand at him and disappeared entirely.

Ardyn stood there for a moment, shrugged to himself, and proceeded onward and down the stairs to the hidden door to Sir Luca’s office. In the low light he could see a wooden seat extending from the wall at the end of the corridor. On it was a fabric cushion of indeterminate colour. The distance between the back of the bench and the size of the office next to him didn’t quite add up. Was there a cupboard behind it? There didn’t seem to be anything behind the wall the bench was attached to. He took a seat, and heard the sound of paper shuffling, as clear as if there was no wall here. No wonder access was restricted.

Ardyn settled in, waiting for Duke Timur to arrive. He supposed this was some sort of practice for him, to see – well, hear – Sir Luca in action. He pulled one leg up and set his foot against the edge of the bench, wrapping his arms around his knee. He felt his breath catch, and a sudden feeling of dread washed over him. He froze. His heart beat in his throat and felt a chill across his back and below him. He felt himself squeeze between the walls, under the low, low ceiling. The steady low light flickered, and he clenched his fists.

When nothing happened and the sound of rattling chains held off, he snapped his head up. He hit nothing. The ceiling was high above him, what with the corridor being the same height at the double-height office here. It was dark up there. The light, a small sconce attached to the wall of the office, glowed dim and steady. There were no chains on his wrists or his ankles, and no bars in front of him. Just brick and wood panelling. The staircase in front of him led to the third floor proper and out of this place. Nothing barred him from leaving.

Ardyn realised he was wheezing, shallow and rapid, and cold sweat ran down his spine. What the ever-loving fuck was _that_? He unclenched his hands and felt they were shaking slightly. He wasn’t in that cage any more. He was out. Was it the light? The narrow space? He hadn’t felt like this when he was in Suvelson’s cell, but that one was well-lit and roomy. It even had a bed. But now, with nothing actually keeping him here aside from being instructed to stay and listen. Luca’s plan had worked, he was as safe as he would be—was that it then? The release of tension had also loosened the control he’d built to survive in there?

His hands shook and he briefly touched one to his throat, where the choker sat. What if it was the slave collar? No doubt it was a firmer chain than any of the thing’s he’d been bound by before this. He thought of getting up and leaving, escaping from here. The thought brought no discomfort, but then again, he also knew that Sir Luca would know, and that Bad Things Would Happen. He briefly thought of shouting, and that did provoke discomfort. This was a quiet place and shouting would interfere with protecting secrecy. The thought welled up unbidden and sharp, unlike his own muddled contemplations. But before he could address the rising bubble of anger and continue contemplating how much of his mind was still his own, he heard the office door click and swing open with a bang.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Luca wrote the final line of their week-end report to Her Majesty, carefully dotting the line’s end. They dipped the eagle-feather quill in their inkwell, letting the excess run off, and felt their hand shake. They frowned as the tip of the feather trembled. Now was not the time for this. They steadied themselves and quickly signed the report. The pen had barely left the paper when the doors to their office slammed open. They smoothed their face into the bland mask they usually wore. There had better not be a dent in either the door or that cupboard.

“Lord Sorosas, so glad I could get a moment of your precious time.” Duke Timur sauntered in, letting the doors swing back on their own. Serge briefly appeared behind him to pull them closed with something resembling delicacy.

“Duke Timur. I’m so honoured you’ve actually come to my office this time. I thought you said you wouldn’t set foot in here anymore.” Luca smiled at their opponent.

Duke Ingmar Satoc Timur was a black man of middling height and heavy build. His tightly curling salt-and-pepper hair was pulled tight into a puff at the base of his neck. He wore purple over grey, the silk puffing out around his arms and rumpling tightly around the wrists. The ankle-length Çyclan-style tunic flapped open around polished leather boots. He smiled brightly and toothily out from his neatly trimmed beard and moustache. His dark-brown eyes focused on Luca’s chin.

“Oh but I can’t not come, since you so cordially invited me here to discuss the unfortunate robbery of one of my weapons stores.” He swerved around the prepared chair and sat his wide frame into it comfortably, then grabbed the carafe of wine set on Luca’s desk and poured himself a glass. “And this time I get a proper chair instead of that thing you use for your usual customers.”

Luca leaned back and laced their fingers together on their desk. The report wasn’t dry yet, but it wouldn’t matter if he saw it. It was an official justice department report, and they were pretty sure Timur would have a copy of it on his desk before the day was up anyway. “I learn from my mistakes, Ingmar. I do pride myself on comprehensive preparations, last time was painful and embarrassing for the both of us.”

Timur snorted and rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself. Seeing you flustered is a treasured memory.” He leaned forward, setting his elbows on the desk. “So what in Birzal’s name was the fuck-up in my storehouse, Luca?” His teeth shone brightly.

“I’m fairly sure that storehouse is listed as a grain storage, so you tell me why someone would rob it.” Luca smiled.

“Why would _any_ storehouse in this castle be robbed? This is the castle, that’s yours to secure against intrusion.”

“The _palace_ is my domain. And the nobles in it.” They twiddled their thumbs a bit. “Why should I be responsible for guarding a grain warehouse?”

Timur sighed and set the goblet on the desk, then rubbed his temples. “Please, Luca, I know you know what’s in that warehouse, and I know you’ve had your eyes on several of the things inside.” Timur’s voice had been loud when he came in, but it dropped to almost a whisper now. “I wouldn’t come here in person if this wasn’t a major problem. That damn crystal is gone and I need to know if you have it.”

Luca felt a pang of worry and dropped the smile. They leaned forward and felt a crease appear between their eyebrows. “That thing’s only worth anything to me because it’s worth something to someone else. That warehouse was secure. I had – have – multiple people in the area. Overlapping your people’s watch. I received no reports of anything amiss.”

“Don’t lie to me about this, Luca. That thing’s dangerous and it needs to be back in that warehouse as soon as possible.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Look, I didn’t even know the thing was stolen until you told me. I only knew someone got inside behind your back. Didn’t you get any reports?”

“Damn it all. I got nothing.” Timur rubbed his face. “Salg made the report. During the weekly rounds.”

“And she can’t trace the tracking spell?”

“Oh, she could.” He looked op at Luca and sneered. “The crystal’s still right where we left it, apparently.”

“ _What_.”

“Exactly. It’s in the container. Except it’s now a mug.”

Luca stood up from their chair. “ _What._ A— how did they even— I’ve seen Salg’s spellwork, she’s good.” They paced across the office, turning to the window. They couldn’t see the warehouse in question from here, it was on a different side. “Ingmar,” the said softly and turned around, “she only found it during the rounds?”

Timur nodded. “Exactly. And no signs of intrusion.”

Luca tsk’ed. That made it even worse. They took a deep breath, eyes closed, and unclenched their jaw. “I’ll divert some personnel to it. Have you informed anyone?”

“No. For now it’s an isolated incident.” Duke Timur poured himself another glass of wine. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Luca paced back and forth. “Shit,” they said. “Well, with Firenz gone it’ll at least take them a long time to get it to do anything.”

“I sure hope so.” He stood up and swigged the wine down in one gulp. “And I’m done here. Have your people identify themselves at the door this time. Oh, and, where’s your new asset? I hear he glared at anybody in line of sight when you led him in today.”

“Like I’d let you have a go at him when he doesn’t even know anything yet. You’ll see him soon enough.”

“I’ll look forward to that. I’m thinking of adding to the pool, but I can hardly bet on a hare that hasn’t left its pen yet.” He chuckled and turned to leave.

“You should work on your own heirs before attempting to predict the death of mine, Ingmar.” Luca smiled amicably at his counterpart.

He guffawed and pulled the doors open wide. “All in due time, young one. All in due time.”

As Duke Timur disappeared down the corridor, Serge stepped inside from his post at the door. “All is well then, milord?”

“I wish. He wouldn’t show up here of all places if all was well. Come in and take the wine away before I start thinking it’s a good idea to drink it myself.”

“Yes, sir.” Serge stepped inside, closing the doors behind him. Luca quickly scrawled a note and handed it to Serge, who glanced at it and tucked it in his coat pocket. “Anything else?”

“I’ll need a second desk in here, take Ardyn along when this is done and get one from the storehouse. I’ll let you decide which one, just make sure it fits with the décor in here. How’s the prep for his room going?” Luca grabbed their report from the desk and started folding it carefully.

“I’ve put Cecilia on the job, sir, and I’ve taken the liberty to reopen the corridor entrance so they won’t pass through your quarters.”

“Good. Get going.” Luca reached over the desk to grab their seal. Serge bowed and left, closing the doors behind him again. “Ardyn, enter.”

The secret door popped out of the wall, and now that Ardyn was directly next to it, he could feel a faint tingle of dissipating magic. He walked in, saw his master lying across their own desk, and raised an eyebrow. Luca fished the seal out of a drawer and stamped it across the folder letter.

“There we go. Right.” They flipped their hair back into place. “Give me a summary of the conversation I just had with the Duke.” They sat on the edge of the desk and crossed their arms.

“Yes, sir. An object has been stolen from a hidden warehouse holding dangerous or restricted goods under Duke Timur’s control. He accused you of taking it, since your personnel was also posted around it. The manner of burglary implies knowledge of the existing security measures, which made you the prime subject. You denied this, which he accepted, which means another party breached both sets of defences to take it. Neither of you knows who, or where the item went, and you’re coordinating a search despite antagonising each other. The item in question is a crystal with enough power to be dangerous, if not for its previous owner being the only known person to be able to use it, and they’re not around. Also, there’s a betting pool on my remaining lifespan. Sir”

“Wow, I think that’s the longest I’ve heard you speak in one go.” Luca smiled that same business-like smile. “And yes, there are some things we see eye to eye about, so to speak. The warehouse is Ingmar’s vault. If you were to investigate, where do you start?”

“Er, the sorceress, Salg, and the guards on duty over the past week.”

“Why the past week?”

“If the object was found missing only at a weekly check-up because the tracking magic no longer pointed at it, it could’ve been taken during the entire previous week?”

“Very good. Now. Let’s discuss what happened right before he came in.”

“I heard nothing, sir.”

Ardyn looked confused, although it wasn’t much different from his usual frown, Luca thought. “No. What happened in there. Ardyn. To you.” They focused on his eyes. Ardyn frowned even more, if that was even possible. They briefly wondered if he’d ever gotten a headache from all that tension. And then, for the first time, he looked away from Luca. Looking down, letting the loose black curls fall across part of his face.

“Nothing happened, sir.” He clenched his hands at his sides.

“You are not allowed to lie to me, Ardyn, and let me state formally that I consider omission a form of lying. What happened.” They saw Ardyn suck in a breath and his eyes went wide, then shot up as the slave collar’s magic worked its programme.

“I’m not sure, sir,” he hissed between his teeth. “Like I was in the cage.” Luca saw he was shaking slightly, and they felt their own hand shake a little as well.

“Ardyn Morellan, look at me.” Luca focused on his face as his eyes turned to meet his. “You are fine. I will not harm you as long as you serve me properly. That much was included in the command I set, no?”

Ardyn nodded, trying not to blink. Luca saw his hands settle down a little. “I suppose this is within expectations, you were in that cage for three years and that’s bound to leave a mark on a person. I’ve seen other people have panic attacks over weirder things than being alone in a small dark space. It’s not the end of the world, figure out what triggers it and make effort to prevent it.”

“Yes, sir.” Ardyn shuddered slightly, then took a deep breath and stood straighter. “How did you know, though?”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’?” Luca smiled, and waited for realisation to dawn, and for Ardyn to break eye contact. Instead he just froze in place. And snarled silently.

“How much? How much can you see?” Ardyn faced them fully now, and took a step towards them. He raised a hand to grasp at Luca’s shirt, but they snapped forward and grabbed his arm.

“ _Stop_. Tut-tut, Ardyn. Raising your hand at your master? I thought you’d been taught manners.” They let the smile slip away and put the full power of their gaze on him. “I can see enough to know you are an unstable dangerous element, but one I can use very well. And with you practically radiating fear and anger through the wall back there, I didn’t even need to see you to pick up on it.”

“I what?” His eyebrows came loose from the frown. “You can feel that?”

“Only if it’s right on the surface.” Luca smiled, twisted the wrist they were holding down, and stepped up close to Ardyn. They patted his cheek with the other hand. “Have you calmed down?”

“I… yes, sir.” He let his arm go slack, and Luca let go of it. They let the fingers of their right hand trail along Ardyn’s jawline. “I apologise for my inappropriate behaviour, sir.” He took a step back and bowed.

“Good boy. Serge should be back here any moment now, go with him and get a desk up here. I’ll have you start with paperwork as soon as possible. Your work will consist primarily of sifting through papers and reports, especially while I can’t bring you along to social events yet. Once you have your desk, start with the stack in the top-left drawer of my desk. Write me a report about them, as detailed as you can, on one sheet of paper. I’ll be away for a bit.”

“Yes sir,” Ardyn replied, even as Luca turned and went through the door left of the fireplace.

They walked into a parlour, decorated in wide and soft chairs draped with fluffy blankets, thick carpets, and tapestries on the walls. It was a mass of textures in dark colours, mostly brown and red, with hints of green between them. There was little gold and silver, and more mahogany. A chandelier made out of glass pearls and small lightspheres hung above for the evenings, but now warm sunlight brightened the sitting room. Luca passed through into a small corridor that went around the corner to the right. They turned left into a large bedroom that took up the entire corner of the building. Again, lots of fluffy textures, but there were more greens and blues here, and the room sported tall arched windows with stained glass tops, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the floor. Sheer curtains kept out any intrusive gazes and softened the light. A large canopy bed sat against the right wall, flanked by cupboards and tall bookshelves. Against the left wall was a rack for cloaks and mantles, and a wide dressing table crowded with bits and bobs.

The room was a mess. There were loose clothes strewn about, and a single boot stood in the centre of the open space. Several stacks of paper sat atop a round table with a couple of chairs up close to the window. There were at least a dozen potted plants of various sizes scattered about, including a huge pot with a gnarled olive tree in the far corner. Luca scowled at the mess, making their third note-to-self that day to gather it up and hand it off to the maids for laundry. Even with the large walk-in closet next to the room, they were going to run out of clean clothing at this speed. They almost wished Ardyn could clean the place up, but he wasn’t quite ready to be in their space.

They sat down at the dressing table and grabbed a comb to smoothen out their hair. There was no mirror amongst the mess.

“ _It’s easy enough though, just let him come in and give you a hand with this. You’ll be better rested if your quarters were more organised._ ” A familiar voice fluttered at the back of their neck, and Luca swatted over their shoulder.

“Oh be quiet, you know me well enough by now that that isn’t an option yet.” Luca very quickly smoothed out the few snarls. At least they didn’t have to worry about looking proper with all of… this. “Let him pick up on the proper tone and respect first.”

“ _But you’re having so much fun messing with him already. And he’s your slave, so he can’t disobey you anyway.”_

“He can, that’s what I—”

 _“He’s a slave, child, in the end he will obey you. No matter how wide you set the parameters for it.”_ A golden figure floated into their line of sight. It resembled them, a lot, but the face was covered in a veil. _“You’ve been far too alone and far too stressed for years.”_

“Like I don’t know that.” They deftly braided a lock of hair along the side of their head and secured it in the back with a clip, then repeated it on the other side. “Am I symmetrical?”

The figure gave a thumbs-up. _“Impeccably so, as usual.”_

Luca swapped a few accessories, then walked over to the door on the other side of the bed. It opened into a walk-in closet, with a door at the far end to the bathing room. They looked through the overcoats, picked one and flung it around themselves. “That should look about right, right Pyx?”

_“Again, as usual.”_

“That’ll do.” They walked back out to the office, grabbed the sealed report and a letter from a drawer they pulled out from the side of the desk. Ardyn was gone now, headed out to pick a desk. Well, carry the desk and chair Serge picked for him. They closed the door behind them, and it clicked shut. There were only two people, three now, that could open these doors when they weren’t in office. The other two were currently looking at furniture, so whatever they left inside was safe. If anyone else tried to enter they would find the door magically barred. They could see the coursing magic like runnels of water.

_“What do you think she’ll say? She wasn’t happy with the amount you spent this time. And for a slave, too, rather than a proper page.”_

“She knows the trust issues I’m facing. And this way she won’t have to deal with any politics about who to appoint to me. He can grow into this.” Luca walked down the hallway into the Queen’s area. “Now stop asking questions in the corridors.”

_“Of course. I’ll just hover along. Oh, people ahead. Time to put your smile back on, dear.”_

Luca smoothed out their face, returning the faint smile, looking in the distance. The best way not to be gawked at was to keep their eyes forward, so anybody looking up would have to make eye contact. They preferred their travels unhindered by that sort of thing. He passed by several maids and lackeys, curtsying as he passed. None of them looked up. It was a relatively short walk to arrive in the Queen’s personal area. They nodded to the guards, who saluted briefly and let them enter. The corridors here were more lavish than even their office, more lavish than a mere corridor had a right to be. That was to be expected of the royal rooms. They stopped before an elaborately carved door, and knocked three times.

“Enter,” said a woman.

Luca opened the door, and stepped in to report to Her Majesty the Queen of Amur.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Ardyn took a seat at his newly installed desk. It was about as demurely decorated as he could get away with in this room, courtesy of Serge. Or rather, mister Nemitz. The man had given him a withering look when he asked a question and addressed him as ‘Serge’ like Luca had done, so he’d quickly used the address Maya had used and apologised. That seemed to have earned some approval from him, and gotten him the least gaudy desk from Serge’s selection. The stack of paperwork he’d retrieved from his lord’s desk wasn’t tall, but the sheet on top was already so densely written that he feared for the rest of it. It looked to be Luca’s hand.

He sat down to read, and got engrossed in the details. So engrossed that he only looked up when there was a knock on the door. He then looked at the sheets strewn across his desk, and realised he’d forgotten to take notes. Damnit. And now he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to open the door without Luca here. The knock repeated, and after a few moments, Serge opened the door and let Cecilia in.

“Thank you, mister Nemitz, I’ll just—oh! I didn’t expect anybody in here other than Lord Sorosas.” Her cart clattered a little as her eyes fell on Ardyn. “I apologise for intruding, sir.” She curtsied at him, red creeping up her neck and cheeks.

“Ah, please, no need.” He stood up and set down the paper. “I wasn’t sure I was allowed to let people in.”

“I understand, sir,” she said with a smile. “I am Cecilia, their lordship’s serving maid. I heard of your arrival but I was sadly occupied during your tour of the castle. How may I address you, sir?” She clasped her hands in front of her.

“Er, Ardyn?” He rubbed his arm, unsure whether he warranted any proper address himself. His position was… weird.

“Mister Morellan will do, Cecilia.” Serge said from the door. “Please set dinner in the dining room.”

“Of course, mister Nemitz. Mister Morellan.” She curtsied again and rolled her trolley to the dining room, like she had the first time they’d met.

Ardyn breathed in relief at the rescue. “Should I introduce myself as mister Morellan, then?” He squeezed his arm a bit tighter.

“To the regular servants, yes.” Serge nodded, a sharp short motion. “Regardless of your… personal status, you are the lord’s assistant. That warrants you a higher position than them. You _were_ taught about the tiers of rank and file at the lodge.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Ardyn said, letting go of his arm and briefly touching the gem at the front of the choker. “With, well.”

Serge nodded at him. “For now this will do. Consider yourself among upper-tier servants for now. And once you’ve been introduced to the court proper, you’ll touch on the lowest edge of nobility.”

Ardyn looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Even as a slave?”

“You will be the direct subordinate of the High Justiciar. Do not tarnish them by lowering yourself.” Serge gave him a long look. It made Ardyn uncomfortable.

“Yes sir. Mister Nemitz.” Damnit. This was harder in practice. He sat back down at his desk and looked down at the messy papers. The pen and inkwell were partially covered by them. He needed paper, and a better organisation. How did Sir Luca keep everything so neatly stacked on their desk?

Cecilia had finished setting the table, and pushed her trolley back out. She brought a whiff of spices and roasted meat with her that elicited a growl from his stomach. He shrunk back onto the chair, embarrassed, but if either Serge or Cecilia noticed, they ignored it. Serge waited by the door as Ardyn fished a sheet of paper from a drawer and started taking his notes. It wasn’t like he could get up and eat before Luca returned, anyway.

The growing churn in his gut made him realise that he’d not eaten anything since early morning, when the guards in Suvelson’s cells had handed out bread, fruit, and water. The morning had taken a small eternity, as had the night. The afternoon was a sudden and intense blur of corridors and faces. He heard the door click, and then the now-familiar intensity of Luca’s presence filled the room. Ardyn stood and bowed.

“Welcome back, sir. Dinner is set in the dining room.” Serge held the door and handed Luca a folded note. “I’ll check if the arrangements for mister Morellan are otherwise finished.” He stepped out and closed the doors again.

Luca mumbled something softly, and pulled off their overcoat. They tossed it on one of the decorative chairs and opened the dining room door. They stopped and looked over their shoulder. “Come on, Ardyn, or the food will cool.”

Ardyn hurried after them. Luca sank into their chair and grabbed a piece of bread, then opened the note and read it. Ardyn sat down immediately after and tucked into his own plate of roast lamb and still-crunchy vegetables. He looked up as Luca sighed and put the note in a pocket. “Bad news? Sir?”

“First investigative report. They haven’t found anything yet, but with the long period it’s taking a lot of time to interview all of the guards involved. The wards weren’t breached, though. Mystery how they got in.” Luca looked up, seeing Ardyn scarf down his food. “Well aren’t you a bottomless pit now, looks like being fed properly for a couple months did you good.”

Ardyn swallowed a bite. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten since dawn.” He slowed down a bit. Table manners were important, after all.

“I don’t mind.” They prodded at their own food. “I’ll have the twins brought in in the coming week, to continue your training. For now you can practise processing paperwork to get a hang of the actual work. I’ll alter your schedule depending on how that goes. Do you have any questions so far?”

“Will processing paperwork be the majority of the work?”

“Yes. Gathering intelligence at this level is mostly processing reports from subordinates. It’s rather more boring than one might imagine. I’ll have you do some fieldwork once I’m satisfied with your progress.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll stay in this wing then?” Ardyn polished off the last of his dinner.

“For now. Tomorrow the tailor will fit you a proper wardrobe, which will get you presentable.” They gestured at Ardyn. “This is good for a down-on-their-luck traveller, okay at Dame Morellan’s estate, but not for the palace. You’ll start with livery, for now. And something fancy for events and visits. I’m not allowing you free roam until you’ve cemented your position as my assistant, and I can prompt you as an option for my page.”

Ardyn sipped from his mug. He’d been somewhat surprised that none of the meals here involved wine or ale, and instead would have to get used to drinking water with a slight hint of lemon. Or tea. “Will they accept that?”

“Right now? No. But once you prove your use and capability, and I get support from Her Majesty, they will. Speaking of, I have an appointment with her tomorrow evening to present you. We’ll go over the rules tomorrow.”

“With the Queen?” Ardyn set down his mug with a thump and looked at Luca wide-eyed.

“Scared?” Luca grinned. “She’s not that bad, really. As long as you’re on best behaviour there’s no reason for her to act against you, especially since I vouched for your presence. If anything, the person you should be most scared of is me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind sir.” He took another sip of lemon water, and Luca used the lull to finish their own food as well. Ardyn rolled the mug in his hands and observed.

Luca looked up, and hesitated a moment. “You know, it’s rude to stare.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” He looked at the fireplace instead.

“Also weird. I confess I’m er, not used to being looked at constantly. My face. Being looked at.” They quickly filled their mouth with the last of the food and set down their cutlery.

“I… see. Should I… not look at you anymore?” Ardyn felt his eyes slide sideways at Luca, and quickly went back to looking at the fireplace.

Luca was silent for a moment. “Maybe not in presence of others. I think. I think it’s okay in here? It’s just… weird.”

Ardyn turned back to Luca, and for the first time, it was them that looked away.

“How is it you keep doing that, anyway?” Luca asked. “I’m told it’s uncomfortable at best.”

“It is. Sir. But not so much that it matters. And if you can really look into people’s souls, does it matter? If I held any secrets, you could order me to tell you anyway. You own me.”

“I see. I think.” They hmm’ed a little, then stood up. “Well. I have some more work to do. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t done either.”

“Yes sir.” Ardyn got up.

Both of them settled down at their desks, and shortly after Cecilia showed up to pick up the plates. Serge followed close behind, and provided a pot of tea and some sugary biscuits, still warm from the oven. Ardyn made no attempt to have any of it, but received a cup and a cookie anyway, at Sir Luca’s insistence. He idly wondered why he was being treated so well, and went with it being a perk of the position he was recruited into. Serge returned some time later, when the sun was setting, to light the fireplace and turn up the chandeliers. They bathed the room in a soft yellowish glow that took away the flickering cosiness of the fire.

At that point he also brought Ardyn out of the office and into the hallway to show him around his quarters. They simply turned left out the doors, into a somewhat short corridor that ended in one door straight ahead, and another to the right, which apparently was his room. _Rooms_. Ardyn had to take a moment stepping inside. He had a parlour, now. Not a big one, relatively speaking, but a parlour nonetheless. They continued past the sitting area consisting of two small couches and a chair around a rectangular table, surrounded by a few cabinets and side tables with plants on them.

Beyond it was his bedroom, with a large square canopy bed in the centre of it. There were several dressers and cabinets, as well as a dressing table with a few items. While the wall of the parlour was in line with the end of the hallway, this room stretched out to the side of the building, ending in several tall windows covered in heavy curtains. A round table with a pouffe and a puffy upholstered chair sat next to them. There were two doors in the same wall as the one they’d entered from. The furthest one led to a small washroom, the other was closed. Serge explained it connected his room to the hallway of Sir Luca’s quarters, and it would remain closed until they saw fit to unlock it. Serge also showed him where the access to the secret corridors was, and how to open that door.

When he asked whether he should return to the office to continue working alongside Sir Luca, he was told to prepare for tomorrow and go to sleep early. So he did. And slept about… none of the night. The room was quiet and dark. He’d opened the curtains a crack to find sheer ones under the heavy covers, and opened those at well to find a view over the castle. It was partly obscured on the right by the palace, its lit windows bright against the dark sky. The castle was dotted with lamps and lit windows that went dark one by one as the night became deeper. Ardyn sat in the puffy chair in his undershirt and looked out across a sight he’d not imagined possible.

It was warm. His feet slowly went cold as he sat there. The bed was inviting, yet terrifying. Sleeping deeply, he’d been taught, was dangerous. It led to inattentiveness to one’s surroundings during the night, especially in unfamiliar surroundings. He nodded off several times, jolting awake when his head dipped too far sideways. Ardyn awoke with a jolt at a knock at the door, finding hazy morning sunlight streaming in, despite the palace casting a shadow over the windows. The sky outside was just losing the rosy colours of dawn. The door opened and Serge stepped in. He cast a look at Ardyn, sitting frumpled in the small chair, and the untouched sheets on the bed.

“Good morning, mister Morellan. You can take your breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. The tailor will arrive shortly.” Serge dropped off a set of clothes on the dressing table chair. “Please wear these for the meantime. Also, I recommend sleeping in the bed next time.”

“Uh, yes. Of course. I’ll be there in a moment, mister Nemitz. Sorry.”

He groggily cleaned himself up and changed into the clean things Serge had brought for him to wear. Clean underclothes roughly his size, a loose black silk blouse and dark blue trousers with lacing down the sides. He boots were still there. He found his way down to the kitchen for a quick meal, ducking behind his hair to avoid the looks from the servants milling about. He felt out of place in the silk shirt, between the livery and aprons they wore. They looked or even moved away when he looked at them for more than a moment.

After breakfast he reported in at the office, where Sir Luca was already at work, and seemed to have been for some time. There was an empty place and a half-full but cold pot of tea. Ardyn was whisked away again quickly when Serge showed up, tailor and entourage in tow, and marched them into one of the guest rooms to work. The tailor was a brusque woman in trousers and a thick shirt with pleated billowing sleeves. She took notes as her first assistant took his measurements. She had him take off the billowy blouse, but let him keep the undershirt when he expressed hesitation. She smiled and told him he wasn’t the first person she’d tailored their first set of formal clothing for, and that discomfort was normal. Ardyn simply nodded along, now having an excuse not to have to explain a rather large number of scars. He knew there were some he couldn’t explain away as a supposed heir to a fallen lower noble. They tended to not have whip marks across their backs, for one.

The tape measures were followed by swaths of fabric, first to examine their looks, then pinned up around him as the tailor and her crew of three rapidly adapted and reassembled several sets of livery, black silk with gold piping and dark green details. It differed markedly from the mostly green ones the regular servants wore. Once the first set was confirmed to fit well, she practically ripped it off him and handed it to her assistants to make several more. She herself set to assembling several other pieces. Ardyn was either standing around waiting for instructions, or being twirled around for quick tests or examinations of her products. He felt like a cheap ragdoll being dressed up for an expensive tea party.

She was satisfied with her notes and semi-assembled work just after lunch, and he was released from her clutches. Dressed in the black silk blouse again – Serge had commented he would be wearing one of the formal dress sets that evening, the livery could wait – he dragged himself into Luca’s office. The thought of paperwork didn’t enthuse him much but it would be quiet. He was sorely disappointed when Luca started grilling him on etiquette for the visit to the Queen. He remembered some of it from Yeana’s classes in the lodge, but still earned several sighs and noises of disapproval from Sir Luca. Ardyn concluded he was best off not talking at all if he could manage it until Luca finally gave a small compliment on what must’ve been the twentieth or thirtieth round.

Not long after he was dragged out to the tailor again to make final adjustments, back to the office for dinner, and then to the tailor _again_ to get him dressed up in the most exquisite clothes he’d ever touched. Black-on-black brocade with gold filigree buttons for the shirt, dark red silk trousers, knee-high black leather boots so polished he could almost see his reflection in them. She draped him in a coat of the same fine brocade with white lace around the cuffs.

“Red, miss Bayda?” came Lua’s voice from the doorway. They leaned against the frame and looked Ardyn up and down.

“Yes, milord. That came out best with his disposition. If it displeases you, I can exchange it for green, milord.” She curtsied and cast her eyes down.

“No, it looks good. Spin.” They twirled their fingers at Ardyn, who complied. “Excellent. I’ll contact you again when I require any further items, you did very well.”

“Thank you, milord. I’ll have the remainder finished tomorrow and sent to you as soon as possible.”

“Perfect. Serge, the finished pieces to his quarters, please. Ardyn, with me.” Luca swished around, and Ardyn followed. He saw they were wearing the heavy green and sable mantle again, this time over a delicately embroidered cream silk coat and waistcoat set atop a white blouse and black trousers. It cinched snug around their waist.

Ardyn followed Sir Luca at the proper distance required of him, a full pace behind the edge of the mantle. The route they followed went wide towards the front of the castle, approaching far less directly than the route Luca had taken the previous evening. This wasn’t just a presentation for Her Majesty, they knew, this was also the moment to first show off to the court at large. Murmurs followed their passing, rolling slightly ahead like a wave. Ardyn felt like he should be pulling a hood over his face. Hide. _Hide_. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t—Sir Luca knocked on a large double door to announce themselves, and it swept open before them.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

This wasn’t the primary receiving room for the royal pair, the grand audience hall, but rather the Queen’s own audience chamber. The carpet ran ahead of them, a rich velvety green edged by gold scrollwork, lined with benches and chairs set diagonally facing the front. People turned aside to look upon them, and at the front, at the end of that stretch of green so deep one could drown in it, sat the Queen of Amur.

She was sat upon a tall gilded chair atop a dais, carpeted with the same royal green plush. It was _her_ colour that Luca wore, not their own. She was a tall woman, angular and sharp. She wore a magnificent dress with layers and layers of creamy lace topped in purple velvet, with draping sleeves and a voluminous champagne shrug around her shoulders. Her greying hair was gathered in a high bun, adorned with ribbons and long golden hairpins. A delicate tiara sat atop her head, framing her lined face in shades of silver.

They walked up the carpet as the herald called out Sir Sorosas, High Justiciar, sword and shield to Her Majesty, the Queen of Amur. Luca bowed deeply at the waist, one arm behind their back and one bent horizontally in front. Behind them, Ardyn sank down and kneeled, one knee and same-side hand on the carpet. He let his head hand down, the silver of the choker glinting in the light. He breathed slowly though his nose, trying to stay calm under the gaze of so many people.

“Rise,” said Her Majesty. Her voice was smooth and strong despite her age. Luca rose back to standing position. Ardyn remained. This was not his queue, not his place. “Sir Sorosas, I have been informed that you’ve taken up a new… assistant. This is the one?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Luca replied. Ardyn could only see the edge of their mantle from here. “I apologise for once more bringing a bound servant before you. I am finding it increasingly difficult to find good personnel to place at my side that will remain there.”

“Indeed. I assume you have verified this one’s background and skills more thoroughly than the woman you hired previously.” There were soft murmurs of disapproval. Ardyn Listened intently to his surroundings, gauging the reaction of the whisperers. They didn’t like his presence, a slave among the high court, but they liked the previous one less. She must’ve mucked up something bad.

“This is Ardyn Morellan, of the line of Sir Fyndir Morellan, who served as a knight under His Majesty Karim the fourth, blessings upon his eternal soul. I have inspected him and found his skills favourable.”

“Good. Stand, Morellan.”

Ardyn heard a sharp rustle-snap sound, and as he stood, he saw that the Queen had taken a fan and held it lightly before her, obscuring her mouth from him. He tried to make the motion as smooth as possible and said nothing. He had not been told to speak. His hair had been arranged neatly to the sides so he had nothing to shelter himself behind. Expression relaxed, eyes forward, he reminded himself. But only ever as high as the fan. Never above that.

“Acceptable. Explain yourself, Morellan.”

Here we go, he thought, and tried to take a proper breath without gulping audibly. “Greeting Her Majesty, blessed is the land for Her presence.” He held his arms like Luca had, dipping his head in deference. This much was proper when speaking to her. “Milord Sorosas has purchased the reneged debt I have inherited from my father, the late Sir Burt Morellan. I have voluntarily accepted milord’s conditions for my service and repayment, and will serve under full obeisance until such time milord deems it fit to release me from it.” The murmurs immediately rose a tad louder. Full obeisance meant he was under a slave contract of the strictest terms and control.

“Full, Sorosas?” The Queen raised an eyebrow and turned to Luca.

“Voluntarily given, and wholly warranted to protect the security of the internal justice department. No method is more reliable.”

“Your Majesty, Should there not be a person of proper pedigree at the High Justiciar’s side? Is it not just as secure to place a truthseeker in the position?” A woman in the gallery seats stood and voiced her objection.

“Thank you for your suggestion, Duchess Ymronne, I have already placed the most qualified servant of Veretrea at the head of justice. I can hardly tell the temple that they are inadequate as such.” She turned back to Luca. “Your judgement is in your hands, Sorosas. And what of the page you were to take?”

“I humbly request your permission to postpone that, Your Majesty. I have an eye on a candidate but they will need time to prove themselves as such.”

“I see. I will grant you this. That will be all.”

“Thank you for your grace. I shall take my leave, Your Majesty.” Luca bowed deeply, and Ardyn followed suit with a bend of his knee. He stepped to the side to allow Luca to turn around gracefully, and fell back in stride behind them. He heard the fan snip shut again behind them. His knees wobbled as they walked out the hall and the guards closed the door again.

Ardyn focused on the sable hem of Luca’s mantle, feeling like he might simply topple forward if it stopped moving suddenly. Serge’s voice welcoming his lord back came in from a haze. He wobbled as he stopped inside Luca’s office, looking at the now familiar swirls in the carpet. The cloak disappeared from his view.

“Now then, that wasn’t so bad. She approves of you, this was mostly to assure the court that she’s keeping a good eye on me.” Luca took off the mantle and dropped it on their desk. “So how did you like your debut, Ardyn?”

He stayed silent.

“Ardyn?” Luca turned to look at Ardyn. The man’s face was flat. His eyes were flat. Staring at the floor. He was visibly shaking. “Ardyn. Ardyn!” Luca snapped their fingers in front of his face.

Ardyn snapped up, and immediately flinched away when he came into contact with Luca’s eyes. He felt cold sweat down his back and his hands shook. He took a deep breath, tilting his head back, and closed his eyes. “I… I apologise for my state, sir. I didn’t think it would be this terrifying.”

Luca winced at the intense discomfort they’d picked up from at that brief contact. “You did well. From now on I’ll have you sit in on proceedings as an observer to get used to this. I’m pretty impressed you kept yourself in check.”

“But I didn’t. The collar reined me in.” He stared at the carpet, following the swirls.

Luca raised an eyebrow. “It shouldn’t be that overpowering. I set it so that it would nudge you into appropriate behaviour, not guide your actions entirely.”

“I let it. I felt it nudge and let myself go slack when it did.” He rubbed his wrist. “I know it’s what you had me trained for, sir, but…”

Luca took hold of his upper arm, dragging him to the side of the office. For a moment Ardyn expected to be dragged off for punishment, but then he was pushed into one of the heavily decorated armchairs in one of the corners, and Luca sat down opposite him. “Take a few deep breaths, from your stomach. Yes, like that. Listen to me. You did fine. You stuck to the script and you didn’t do anything unnecessary. You didn’t trip. You did _fine_. And the command I put in the choker is intended to help you out and protect you if you’re uncertain.”

“It puts thoughts in my head and words in my mouth.” Ardyn clasped his hands until his knuckles were white.

“And the more skilled you get at this, the less often you will find it doing so. You will learn in time.” Luca spoke softly to him, and Ardyn wondered if they were consoling him more like a scared child or an unruly pet. Either way he calmed down despite himself.

“I don’t belong here, sir. I’m just a—I’m just a regular guy, I screwed up getting in the Guild, I screwed up getting caught on my mission, and I screwed up getting in here. I really—”

“What, do you _want_ me to punish you or something? Look, I told you this would be difficult and risky. Yet you signed up for it, despite the risk, because you realised it was the best path to take. You could’ve taken the easy way out, served your sentence in a spot fit for your so-called ‘regular guy’. You didn’t, and the fact alone that you took time to deliberate that, and that you went through the lodge training so smoothly and successfully, means that you are, in fact, suited for the position. And if you don’t trust your own judgement on that, trust mine. You’ll not find a more knowledgeable and skilled master anywhere else.” They leaned back in the chair and folder their hands behind their head.

Ardyn looked up from his lap, rubbing a thumb over his hands. Luca was smiling cheerily, yet it didn’t quite extend to their eyes. Still, seeing them half slouched in the chair pulled slightly at his cheek. “And if not, you’re arrogant and confident enough to cover for it. Sir.”

Luca’s smile widened to a grin, and now it did crinkle in the corners of their eyes. “Damned right. And don’t you dare say that to my face again or I _will_ punish you for your behaviour.” Luca smacked his shoulder firmly, standing up and moving over to their desk. “Now then, dinner should be here soon-ish, I need to get a few things done before that. Take some time to compose yourself and get back to your work when you’re ready.” They flopped into the chair and grabbed a paper.

“How do you do it, sir?”

“Do what? The work?”

“Have so much confidence. I’m, er, fairly sure I’m three or four years older than you are, yet you hold yourself like a seasoned veteran.”

Luca laughed. “That’s because I am. Well, on both accounts. I was assigned to this post seven years ago when my predecessor requested retirement, and I built on her experience. She was a terrific mentor. And I’ve been doing this for seven years now. I know the people in here and the way they think and talk, and I can walk among them. Before that I held a position in the Temple of Veretrea from a young age. You, on the other hand, got stuck with the Guild doing a very specific job with… apparently very little human contact? And you’ve been stuck in a cell for the last three years. So even if you’re older than me – which to be honest, I thought you were by a lot more when I first saw you – I have a lot more time spent among people and presenting myself in social circles.” They waved the feather quill pen at Arden.

Ardyn grunted, looked at the ceiling, then at his feet. “I guess that’s true.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about not getting it right the first time. Properly gauging intent is hard even for people who lead regular lives, let alone for someone unskilled at it in a completely unfamiliar environment. People here are skilled at obscuring things too, and I have advantage thanks to all this,” they said, gesturing at their face. “You have no idea what this is like.”

Arden looked up, making eye contact. It still felt weird, but he didn’t flinch away anymore, and neither did Luca. “Didn’t you say you inspected me?”

“I did! So you were paying attention despite everything. Well done.” They smiled and set down the quill.

“So what did you see?” Ardyn clenched his clasped hands. “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

“That you have. That much is expected from an assassin. You radiate an aura of death comparable to several of the more combat-hardened soldiers, you know? But little actual bloodlust. I can tell you’re collected and detached from it. Reminds me of an owl.”

Ardyn looked at Luca blankly. “An owl.”

“Intelligent, physical skill, rational, won’t hesitate to kill but finds neither joy nor sorrow in it. Good with small sharp weaponry. An owl, indeed. I can’t really describe what it looks or feels like, but that’s the impression you leave me with.” They sat back and crossed their arms. “What were you expecting? I can tell you’re disappointed.”

“I thought inspection was more of a concrete thing. Something that gives you a crisp description of skills and abilities.”

“Oh, it can, but that’s highly unpleasant to both parties involved. I could do that but it’s more than I really want to do, especially given your rather gruesome shroud.” Luca waved a hand indicating Ardyn’s general area of being. “A deep inspection involves actually _experiencing_ part or all of the subject, and they get to feel you rifling through them. You can imagine what that’s like when people already won’t meet my eyes with the faint gaze I have when I’m not focusing on it. No, I’ll stick to the light view if you please.”

“Huh.” Ardyn blinked, feeling the pressure from those gold eyes. He felt like there could be something else that Luca wasn’t telling him about it, but this much he could already understand. “So you did that when you dragged me out of that cage, didn’t you?” He remembered that feeling, of being looked _through_ rather than at. Everything had been muted back then, but that feeling remained.

“I did. I had to be sure of what meat was on my table, so to speak. Given what I need you for, finding someone with your skill in covert actions as well as intelligence was a blessing, and from what I’ve seen so far my choice has been correct. You can focus on learning what you need in here, I have little doubt that you’ll live up to my expectations.”

It was hard to argue against Luca’s self-satisfied smile. Ardyn grunted, got up, and sat back down at his own desk to get back to work. “I’ll get that summary done, sir.” He picked up the paperwork to finish the study assignment Luca had set for him. “And… thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ardyn managed to complete his assignment the next morning just before noon. Luca read over his summary and he was rewarded with a smug smile from them, as well as a new stack of already processed papers, but from the day before across many subjects. Luca intended for him to get a broad overview of current events and the state of the castle from it. From then on Ardyn spent a lot of time reading, summarising, and reading some more. Occasionally Luca would interrogate him on the contents, or ask him to draw conclusions or make strategies for further investigation.

Over the course of several weeks he started to get the hang of reading documents quickly and summarising as brief as he could, jotting down notes. Luca had gotten him a bound notebook for his own use and it quickly filled up with all sorts of titbits. He was immediately taught another valuable lesson about securing information when Serge handed it back to him one evening, having picked it out of Ardyn’s dressing table drawer the previous afternoon while he’d been off to take lessons in shorthand from one of the court notaries. He learned to keep his notes in his coat pocket, and requested two lockboxes to store secure documents while he was out. There were several important meetings planned, and everything had to be secure if they were to head out for longer trips.

Or, apparently, during training exercises. Luca had received a forwarded letter from the Lodge, indicating that the twins were on their way to the capital. This gave him the prospect of harsh trainings from Kass, which on the one hand would give him a reprieve from the tedious office work, but on the other hand was likely to result in ample physical pain. And Yeana would likely take over part, if not all, of his lessons from court officials and from Serge. The two would be coming in somewhere in the next two weeks from an expedition further afield.

At the same time, a missive showed up from the Temple of Veretrea, summoning Luca and ordering them to bring Ardyn along. Something in their expression had made Ardyn worry more about that than about the twins. Perhaps it was the solemnity? Or the faint tsk of annoyance. When he asked Luca what he needed to prepare, they had dialled their gaze up to eleven and crisply told him that no, he didn’t need to prepare anything in particular. He recognised that tone of voice from when Duke Timur had talked about the storehouse robbery, and quickly scrambled off to what would likely be his last study with the notary.

* * *


End file.
